


The SCP Foundation but Grognak stomps it

by StrawberryEvening



Category: SCP - Containment Breach, SCP Foundation, call me kevin - Fandom, youtube - Fandom
Genre: Actually some might call me funny, Attempt at Humor, But a lot would probably call me annoying, CallMeKevin - Freeform, Gen, Grognak and Jim Are the Same Person, Grognak doesn't have an i in it, Grognak is an SCP, I Don't Even Know, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm not funny, I'm very lonely, Idk i am very desensitized, Jim doesn't either if you spell it wrong, Jim is an SCP, Kevin is very funny, Most wouldn’t call me at all, Original Character(s), Overpowered Grognak, SCP, So we meet somewhere in the middle, Tagging this as humor makes me want to claw my eyes out, Violence, What Have I Done, Who needs eyes anyway, i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:27:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 42,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26451097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrawberryEvening/pseuds/StrawberryEvening
Summary: YouTuber CallMeKevin's two most famous characters Grognak the Destroyer Attorney at Law Esquire M.D., and Jim Pickens get thrown in a metaphorical juice blender to meld their personalities into the best of both worlds. Just what happens when a communist psychopath with the tendency to accidentally form cults and reap absolute chaos gets thrown into the perilous world of SCPs?
Comments: 13
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!! Thank you for reading my story! Honestly this story came to fruition because the concept of any SCP Foundation characters coming into contact with Kevin's brand of... Kevin-ness is just such a hilarious concept to me lol
> 
> You could probably read this without ever having seen a video by CallMeKevin before, but tbh I don’t really know haha. I’d really recommend checking out his Grand Theft Auto series/other role play videos as they’re fucking hilarious and also his Sims playthrough if you have the chance (those characters he invents are what this story is based on). He’s honestly like one of the most genuinely witty and funny youtubers I’ve ever watched. And that’s saying something because I grew up on Youtube. 
> 
> Give him a watch and let me know what you think! Also please be nice, I'm just writing this for fun!  
> Okay, thank you again!

**Special Containment Procedures: ******

********

Interacting with SCP-9410 is strictly restricted to level 4 clearance personnel and above. The Foundation is currently unable to securely contain SCP-9410. Any attempts have failed and resulted in varying cases of disaster relative to the initial threat. As such, SCP-9410 is to be given the illusion of freedom throughout the facility. While all doors appear to be open to it, SCP-9410 is really to be subtly herded and manipulated to avoid staff personnel and restricted sites. 

********

SCP-9410’s has often agreed to refrain from accessing a section of the facility only to immediately seek it out once the conversation ends. It appears that mentioning something is off limits or against the rules only entices SCP-9410 into doing it.

********

SCP-9410 thinks of itself as normal and thrives on socialization; to isolate it is to cause disaster. As such, SCP-9410 has been given the impression that it has been hired by the Foundation. To corral SCP-9410, mobile task forces highly trained in impulse control and manipulation are to go undercover as “friends” of SCP-9410. SCP-9410 must NEVER suspect that it is being manipulated by these “friends” in order to keep it controlled.

********

********

**Description: ******

********

********

********

SCP-9410 is a human entity, approximately 1.85m in height and appearing as a middle-aged Caucasian man with a grey beard and grey hair showing male pattern baldness. However, some report seeing it as a completely bald Caucasian man with red headphones, black wrap-around sunglasses, and female attributes consisting of breasts, rounded hips, and a dumpster-truck ass. The “true” form of SCP-9410 is currently unknown. Both forms of SCP-9410 possess an Irish accent and speak with the average tenor for a human male.

********

********

********

SCP-9410 refers to itself as either ‘Jim’ or ‘Grognak the Destroyer Attorney at Law Esquire M.D.,’ and has the unparalleled ability to reap absolute chaos in even the most mundane of circumstances. Attempts to harm SCP-9410 or keep it contained result in instances of what appear to be several completely coincidental cases of bad luck. 

********

********

********

Extremely charismatic to some and extremely annoying to others, SCP-9410 is capable of dividing sentient beings between either unflinchingly loyal followers willing to take their own life if asked (referred to as SCP-9410-1), to offended parties that grow progressively more exasperated and prone to violence (referred to as SCP-9410-2).

********

********

********

While SCP-9410 is almost never physically hostile towards Foundation personnel without provocation, often bestowing compliments and defending staff from what it perceives as insults to their persons, SCP-9410 should be handled with extreme caution.

********

********

********

Force of any kind should NEVER be used with SCP-9410. The magnitude of destruction that could be wrought in any attempt on SCP-9410’s wellbeing is unfathomable in its capacity. The use of any force such as threatening, grabbing, pushing, punching, shooting, gassing, bombing or any other harmful endeavour is to be avoided at risk of permanent disfigurement, psychological insanity, death, and if current theories are correct, the end of life as it is known. Instead, SCP-9410 is generally amenable to flattery, flirtation, and gifts. If SCP-9410 approaches an area that it cannot have access to, staff are to discreetly employ these methods of bribery and flattery to distract SCP-9410 and redirect it until the offending area is clear. SCP-9410 is particularly amenable to promises of listening to Johnny Cash’s Ring of Fire. However, revelation that these methods are used for manipulation purposes must be kept a secret from SCP-9410 at risk of retaliation for the “betrayal.” At which point, SCP-9410 may become either directly hostile or applaud the offender for their attempts. It appears that the difference lies in how “handsome” SCP-9410 finds the perpetrator. Further testing is required.

********

********

********

All staff personnel must always be aware of the location of SCP-9410. Any tasks assigned to foundation personnel that include entering the hallways and coming into the direct warpath of SCP-9410, regardless of how urgent, must be temporarily suspended in favour of immediately finding a different route to avoid being seen by SCP-9410.

********

********

********

********

********

********

**Addendum 9410a: ******

************ ** **

********

************ ** **

In the incident [REDACTED], SCP-9410 (Subject D-9410 at the time) was angrily threatened by a guard with promises of torture and dismemberment. Before the guard could raise his gun to incapacitate SCP-9410, his fingers slipped and he shot himself in the foot. When he fell to the ground in pain, a single quarter rolled out of his pocket and down the hall. The quarter spun away for an extremely unlikely amount of time until it reached the door to the control panel room for heavy containment. 

************ ** **

********

************ ** **

At the exact moment it met the door, [REDACTED] opened it to exit. It rolled inside and technical researcher David Rosen who had remained inside, heard the clink of it settling on the floor. Rosen turned around and stood up to grab the coin, but he tripped on the end of his lab coat and hit his head on the corner of a desk. Bleeding and disoriented, Rosen used the Master Control lever of the facility’s door operations to try and help himself off the floor, pulling it to OFF before passing out. 

************ ** **

********

************ ** **

An alarm blared through the facility and red warning lights turned on, an announcement indicated that the manual and automatic control of all doors had been frozen. Several containment doors had all been opened at that precise moment and then would not close regardless of staff personnel’s efforts. As a result, SCP-035, SCP-049, and SCP-096 breached containment. 

************ ** **

********

************ ** **

Ten of the guards for SCP-096 were shocked at the announcement and panicked, looking at the cameras in SCP-096’s chamber. They looked directly at its face and were subsequently killed by SCP-096. 

************ ** **

********

************ ** **

SCP-049 and SCP-035 rampaged through the facility, as a result of most security personnel being locked behind doors and vulnerable researchers being stuck with their doors open.

************ ** **

********

************ ** **

The door to the control room itself had also been frozen and as such, it was impossible for [REDACTED] to get back in. The doors remained nonfunctional for a total of 5 hours until Rosen regained consciousness. In their release, SCP-035 killed [█] staff personnel, SCP-049 killed [█] staff personnel and [█] D-classes, and [█] people looked directly into SCP-096’s face. Rosen suffered a severe concussion.

************ ** **

********

************ ** **

SCP-9410 was found [REDACTED] hours after the initial incident. During the containment breach, SCP-9410 is believed to have caused the complete disappearance of all physical files/reports/statements regarding top secret Foundation secrets kept in an O5 clearance level location. It is unknown how it managed to find this location and secure these documents. It is unknown whether these documents were kept or destroyed somehow. Whether or not SCP-9410 may have inflicted further damage to the facility is currently unknown. 

************ ** **

********

************ ** **

************ ** **

********

************ ** **

**Addendum 9410b: ******

**************** ** ** ** **

********

**************** ** ** ** **

In a separate incident, SCP-9410 and [REDACTED] were placed in a 5x5x5m steel enclosure with no windows, doors, exits or avenues to bring anything in or out of the chamber. 

**************** ** ** ** **

********

**************** ** ** ** **

Approximately 5 minutes after containment, Foundation member [REDACTED] accidentally tripped over electrical wires and started a fire. The fire began beside an unknown number of chemicals that turned it from a small flame to a raging inferno, reaching temperatures of [██] degrees. The fire burned straight through the steel containment chamber holding SCP-9410. Even as the entire steel box and the surrounding room exploded in flames and resulted in [█] dead, SCP-9410 and [REDACTED] were unharmed. It was heard by several faculty members humming to itself “I fell into a burning ring of fire” once escaping the affected area. 

**************** ** ** ** **

********

**************** ** ** ** **

The fire destroyed [██] square feet of the facility and caused [█] other containment breaches. How there were loose electrical wires in a rigorously inspected branch of the facility is unknown. The chemicals which caused such an explosive reaction are unknown. How the chemicals reached the exact spot they did in the facility is unknown.

**************** ** ** ** **

********

**************** ** ** ** **


	2. Chapter 2

To be completely fair, chaos seemed to follow Jim regardless of his intentions. He’d been through a feck ton of hazardous and morally ambiguous escapades, too many to count really. Hazardous for the people around him that is, nothing ever really happens to him. As much as he was used to this sort of life, being that it’s all he’s ever known, this one... this one might take the cake.

If only for pure weirdness.

He’s really not even quite sure what happened. One second he was asserting his rightful role as the Supreme Leader, doling out executions like any other Tuesday and the next thing he knew, he was in some psych ward cell. Like he said, strange. Especially because he wasn’t doing anything wrong.

The cell itself was nothing special; white walls, a small bed pushed against the corner of the wall (which he was currently sitting on), and a sink connected to a rusty toilet. A single incandescent bulb burned above him, giving off a steady hum as if taunting him.

He glared at it.

Whoever these people were, they were ridiculous! Only poor people and drug addicts still use incandescent bulbs and Jim was not poor.

He shook his head and promised himself to leave an all caps, flaming review for this shitty establishment when he got home. Flopping back onto the hard bed, he stared at the ceiling. His 6,432,899th kidnapping and he can’t even appreciate it. He’s not even sure if his Stockholm syndrome can override his distaste for the decor. They’ll have to do some tough convincing to get him to fall for them, that’s for sure.

Just as he was about to let out another forlorn sigh, the distant sound of footsteps echoing down the hall reached his ears and he shot up, sitting ramrod straight. Anticipation waved through him and his stomach fluttered with nervous butterflies. He crossed his legs, checked his breath, and delicately rested his hands atop his knees.

First impressions are important after all.

The footsteps paused outside his door and he had to remind himself to breathe.

_Breathe in._

_Breathe out._

_I could really go for some In-N-Out right n—_

The beep of a card swiping through a machine rang out and the door whined as it slid open.

A man appeared.

An extremely handsome man.

Outfitted in a white shirt and pants with a black tactical vest over top, it looked like this must be his guard. Guard for who or what he didn’t know, but what he did know was that the man was completely and utterly massive. The doorway was larger than average, but he still took up the entire door frame, the sleeves of his uniform pulled tight over biceps that could crush a melon. His deep and rich ebony skin was flawless and his dark, curly hair was longer than one would expect of a supposed military officer, but just short enough to not cover the scowl embedded into his face. He looked like he belonged on the cover of GQ.

Jim was convinced.

“Subject D-9410, please exit your room and follow us.” The voice came out of nowhere, startling him. He started to wonder if the guard was an extremely talented ventriloquist when he noticed a second guard standing slightly hidden behind the first. If he hadn’t spoken Jim would never have noticed him. He dubbed him Second Guard in his head.

“They’ve got some work for you,” Second Guard continued, nodding encouragingly. As if his partner’s words made him realize that he blocked the only exit, First Guard stepped back. Instead of colliding with the man behind him, Second Guard mimicked his movement easily, the synchronization and fluidity so smooth it appeared almost as a choreographed dance.

They were well trained. Very well trained.

_This is serious._

He cleared his throat, catching their eyes and holding them. “Good evening, my name is Jim. I’m sure you are very pleased to meet my acquaintance.” He grinned.

A moment passed.

“Okay… well if you’ll give me a moment to get fixed up I’ll be right with you.” he continued. “Can’t go in public without my face on, you know what I mean.” Uncrossing his legs, he stood up and grinned saucily at them. Approaching the tiny sink, he leaned over it and ran his fingers through his grey hair. Once satisfied with that, he pulled his lips back and checked his teeth for any imperfections.

_Perfect._

He nodded, satisfied with himself and finally turned to the guards.

“That… There’s no mirror, that’s literally just a wall.” Second Guard looked between him and the blank wall. In the time he’d taken to inspect himself, the guard had moved around to look in and now stared at Jim incredulously. “And it’s two o’clock in the afternoon...”

First Guard snapped his head towards the slightly less handsome Second Guard. “Don’t encourage him. Hurry the fuck up 9410, we have authorization to shoot if necessary, so do your job or I’ll do mine.”

He tapped a massive assault rifle and Jim’s eyes widened. All this time he’d thought First Guard was pretending to hold an invisible weapon of some sorts, but no, the handsome guard did not have severe mental health problems, the gun was just covered in camouflage printing. In other words: invisible.

Not wanting to further aggravate his somewhat touchy escorts, Jim shrugged and sauntered out the door. They fell into position on either side of him and led him down the corridor to the left of his room.

Twisting his head around, he found a dead end to the right of his rooms. Dozens of other doors lined the hallway on both sides.

“Eyes forward.” First Guard snapped. Jim faced forward again and narrowed his eyes. There must be other prisoners like him inside those rooms.

_I better not be the only one with a poor person light bulb._

Lifting his chin back he tilted his head back to look up at his handsome guard. “So... what’s your name First Guard?” he asked. “Names are an important first step to friendship you know.”

First Guard’s jaw clenched. Jim wasn’t stupid. He knew the guard would rather stick a needle through his eye than make conversation, but it’s not his fault, honest. The scenery was just so boring. Seriously! Why’d they have to make everything so _white?_ Where’s the decomposing corpses and bloodied chains? The satisfying crack and pop of your feet crunching over bones? The tormented screams? The general air of hopeless desperation? Not here. Instead they went with _white._

“First Guard?” asked Second Guard, looking at him curiously.

“I told you to stop engaging with him,” First Guard growled. Jim watched his fingers tighten around his gun.

He almost felt like he was in a really shitty police detective movie with the good cop bad cop thing going on. The only thing that scared him was that it didn’t seem like they were acting.

Turning back to Second Guard he hummed, “Mmhm, First Guard is more handsome so his name comes first, but you can tell me your name if you feel left out I guess, I’m not a bully.” He thought for a second. “Although I may consider reordering you if someone’s attitude doesn’t change.” He discretely cut his eyes to First Guard.

“Oh, that’s not— uh okay my name is Flint.” Second Guard smiled as if they were just two strangers getting to know one another over a beer. His good-natured innocence practically reeked from his pores and Jim wondered how he got a job as a guard of all things, he seemed a better fit for a lifeguard or something as equally disgustingly altruistic. Second Guard must’ve seen the doubt in his eyes because he cleared his throat and looked away.

Then everything went to shit.

Several events exploded into place in rapid succession, like throwing a million popcorn kernels into a home you just lit on fire. He would later look back on this moment as the time it all began.

_Well, his birth is really the moment it all began so maybe the second moment it all began would make more sense. But that draws the question of how can it all begin twice? If it all began the first time then there wouldn’t be anymore to begin the second time because it had already all begun… he cursed his overly intelligent brain for raising important questions in times of crises._

A BANG rang through the hallway as First Guard slammed his gun into the floor and a shot was unintentionally discharged.

“Thomas wha—” Flint choked and reeled back as he was slammed into the steel wall courtesy of First Guard’s hands clenched around his neck.

Thomas growled and shoved his face into Flint’s, knuckles turning white in contrast to the rapidly purpling face he held.

“Just. Stop. Fucking. Talking. To. Him!” Each word was punctuated with a bang of Flint’s head into the wall. But Thomas didn’t stop even after that and soon enough the dull thudding was replaced with wet, squelching suctioning noises as blood and what looked like chunks of brain matter splattered onto the wall.

Jim admired Thomas’ enthusiasm for killing, he really did. The vicious brutality of it was almost poetic. All that fiery passion taking physical form in such a cold and ruthless manner, but as much as he enjoyed it, even he could admit it was a bit uncalled for. He’d killed for less, hell he’d tortured for less, but the standards were different for him. For Thomas though...

He truly wished he could stay longer and ask him about it, but the patter of footsteps softened by distance rapidly approaching made it not to be. Very unfortunate. This seemed like it was a big moment for Thomas and he would’ve been glad to witness it in its entirety. It was somewhat regrettable that it had to be Flint though. Adulthood had only just begun to peel away the softness of youth from his face and his personality wasn’t _entirely_ off-putting...

Oh well.

That’s just the way life goes sometimes.

He heard a distant scream ring through the hall from the direction of the footsteps and he tore himself back to attention, jolting into action.

His window of time was closing.

Skirting around Thomas like he was a ticking time bomb, Jim quickly swiped a hand out and tore the keycard from the guard’s chest with a fast and hard yank. He darted back as soon as it came loose and flicked his gaze to Thomas’ face.

His guard didn't glance up or pause his slamming; the sound almost rhythmic in its steady consistency.

Flint's head was unrecognizable, just a mush of what looked like blended lasagna and tomato soup sloshing around. One look at Thomas’ face found it practically feral. A snarl curled his lip and he knew if they locked eyes he’d find them empty. He didn’t look like he was going to stop and look up anytime soon.

Thomas didn’t look like he was ever going to stop.

Jim shrugged. Turning around, he started walking back in the direction they’d just left, relying on his memory to guide him. Glancing at the keycard, it read **Thomas Knox, Security Clearance Level 3.** He snorted. Of course his last name was _Knox._

Pinning it to his chest, he was pleased to note his memory had not failed him and he was able to find the hallway containing his cell. Humming a little tune to himself, he strutted down like the runway model he was and paused only to unlock each door he saw before moving on.

_Scan._

_Beep._

_Woosh._

Repeat.

By the end his wrist almost hurt from scanning so many card readers.

His walk had taken him to the dead-end that was to the right of his cell. Turning back, he did a double take. Inside the cell closest to the wall he stood next to was a dead man's body. The corpse was splayed out on the floor like it’d been thrown there and then forgotten about. He looked to his right to watch as 30 or so men and women cautiously stepped out of their rooms, glancing at one another suspiciously and wearing the same orange jumpsuit he was.

That won’t do.

Darting inside the cell he grabbed a hold of the corpses’ leg and heaved it outside, positioning it so it was perfectly centered in the hall.

“Aha!” he said to himself triumphantly, grinning at his own resourcefulness. Making a great show of it, he raised a foot up and stepped onto the dead man’s back, wobbling a bit as he found his balance. Once he was stable, he straightened his spine and raised his hands to his hips. In this moment he was sure he was glowing.

Now that he was above them, even if just by an inch, they could recognize him as superior regardless of the fact that they were all wearing the same outfit. He picked at his jumpsuit with distaste for a moment, but recovered quick enough and forced himself to plaster a smile on his face.

_Deep breath. Here comes the speech of the century._

“Now, it doesn’t matter where you came from, your race, sexual orientation, or how ugly you all are,” he boomed, his voice easily overheard through the loud conversation of a confused and panicked crowd. Heads turned towards him and his makeshift stage and he chuckled good naturedly.

“We are a family that has never met before, and family sticks together right?” he continued, voice lilting with passion. “These people want to take away our freedom! I say we don’t listen; I say how dare they! We are not sheep, some cattle to be prodded away at until our use wears out. No! So let’s show ‘em what happens when you mess with people who have nothing left to lose but their lives, dignity, and self-worth. Who’s with me?!” He punched his arm into the air and raised his chin, breathing heavily.

For a moment no one moved and he considered using said arm to bludgeon himself to death when suddenly clapping started near the back. The crowd eerily turned to look in almost perfect synchronization. The clapping man shrugged and gave a wolf whistle, grinning humorously.

Jim let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding and grinned back.

A woman near the front cautiously started as well, peering at him through her eyelashes. Slowly, and somewhat hesitantly, the rest of the group began to join in, looking at each other in rising confidence until a crescendo of cheers echoed down the hall.

People grinned at each other, slapping each other’s backs, and introducing themselves. Some even started hugging, the cheerful atmosphere mitigating any awkwardness there would usually be. The clapping eventually died out and was replaced with dozens of voices blending together as self introductions and the small talk stage commenced. You’d never have believed that just a few minutes ago they were riddled with suspicion and ready to tear each other's throats out if need be.

Jim smirked and internally patted himself on the back for a job superbly well done, once again. He truly never disappointed himself.

He was starting to formulate the speech he’d inevitably give to accept his role as cult leader (only five sentences in and he already knew it was going to be just as big of a hit as his first), when a yell of pure terror interrupted his thoughts. Snapping his attention back to the outside world, he watched the opposite end of the corridor which was both the direction the scream came from and their one and only exit should things turn sour.

The idle chatting tapered off and people began to shift uneasily once again as heavy footsteps pounding towards them, their source not yet visible. A few more moments went by with nothing, just tense silence.

Whoever was running was almost upon them now.

Jim forced a laugh. “Don’t worry about it people, the ambiance here is shite. I’m sure we'll be fine. Plus, look around you,” he spun an arm out. “It’s all of us versus one of them.”

Some acknowledged his words with a quick glance and even fewer turned back to smile weakly at him. Most kept staring straight down the hall, as if frozen in fear. His grin nearly faltered in the face of their unwavering terror.

What had they been through here?

Someone shifted closer to him.

“How can you be sure we’ll be okay? I think— I think this is hell,” they whispered to him in a heavy southern drawl. Jim turned to find a young woman hunched into herself, her shoulders practically at her ears. She shuddered and her matted hair didn't follow the movement, too heavy and hard with whatever crusted it to blow easily in the wind. “This place… there’s something wrong with this place, it's not right. It’s not… I’ve made some horrible decisions in my life, Lord forgive me, but I wouldn’t wish this place on anyone, not even my worst enemy. There is no God here,” her voice faltered and she finished with a heavy swallow. Her brown eyes stared at him with such fragility it was as if she was one more chipped piece away from falling apart completely.

He smiled at her as kindly as he could and reached out to take a hold of her hand, ignoring her slight flinch to hold it warmly between his own grasp. Speaking as softly as possible while hopefully still conveying his conviction, he held her gaze reassuringly, “Don’t be such a pussy, dear.“ He patted her hand once, twice, and then gently released it, watching it fall back to her body limply.

Whether she’d opened her mouth to reply or to leave it hanging in a gape, he’d never know, as just then the screaming started again. This time far louder and far more piercing.

This time it was just around the corner.

Everyone whipped their heads to the end of the hall as a tall shape barreled around the corner, still screaming and skidding along the floor from how sharply they took the corner. They almost tripped in their urgency to continue their sprint, not hesitating for a second to join the crowd of spectators watching them.

Jim’s own eyes widened and he almost clapped with glee. The screamer was the now familiar form of Thomas the Man Beater! What a delightful turn of events! So caught up in his joy watching Thomas shove through the crowd, he almost missed the appearance of an emo Big Bird. He felt like he should probably need some more time to process that statement, but he’d seen all manner of ridiculousness in his long existence.

Big Bird was wearing a cloak darker than the night that seemed to absorb all light it could reach with its prowling grasp. The cloak itself waved around the tall figure as if it had a mind of its own. The cloak’s hood was pulled up and darkened the wearer’s face ominously, as if wrapping it within shadows. The need for secrecy the hood implied contrasted significantly with the being’s dark silver… beak? (He wasn’t sure if that was an offensive term to use but excuse him for never having met a bird man before). The beak gleamed in the light, drawing attention to the sharp point that extended an almost absurd length away from their body.

Not just emo Big Bird. Big Bird if he got evicted from Sesame Street and turned to a life of crime in a vain attempt to fill a void that can never be filled again.

“Ah, it is… most distressing to meet your acquaintance, mortals.” Big Bird spoke in a surprisingly posh British accent. It would have been perfect for narrating National Geographic documentaries if not for its strange, ringing distortion. It sounded almost… hollow.

“I must say I was drawn to what sounded like the standard cough, but now that I am here I see the Pestilence is raging! Do not fear me, I am the cure,” Big Bird continued. His beak showed no sign of moving. Maybe it’s a mask? That’s probably the normal conclusion rather than assuming the man is part bird. It’s more exciting if he’s part bird though, so whatever.

Big Bird started walking down the hall towards them, if you can even call it a walk that is. At the speed he was going it was more like watching a crippled turtle try its best. Other people must have been horrified by his lack of physical fitness as well because everyone started screaming.

Jim covered his ears.

The man who was the first to grin and accept Jim just five minutes earlier appeared to unintentionally urinate just as Big Bird touched him. He crumpled to the floor like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

_He must be so embarrassed to have pissed himself that he fainted._

Jim absentmindedly looked to his side among the screaming as Thomas appeared. His face was splattered with blood from his recent bout of murderous rage and he was shaking like a leaf. The smell of tangy copper wafted from him and the prayers he repeated to himself over and over did nothing to hide the pure panic set into his face. Jim had to admit that the completely disheveled form of his formerly uptight guard surprisingly made him feel somewhat uneasy. Just 10 minutes ago he was voluntarily decorating the walls with his comrade's brains. Feeling a frown developing on his face, he glanced back at his group and did a double take.

Sometime in his perusal of Thomas the screaming had stopped.

Jim blinked.

He blinked again.

Bodies littered the floor. His entire cult lay there, dead.

Just.

Like.

That.

And that wasn’t all.

Emo Big Bird was cutting them open with a scalpel. Jim watched as intestines poured out of several torsos, as geysers of blood fountained out of the lacerations, as the stark whiteness of bone became visible through the squishy pink layer of slashed apart muscle. As unseeing eyes stared at the ceiling and mouths were left gaping open, locked into their last expression of unfathomable horror.

He blinked once more.

Thomas’ shoes squeaked and Jim distantly heard the sound of his retching as the bird-man at last turned to look at them. It tilted its head as if just noticing their presence and gracefully stood back up from its kneeling position. Blood dripped from its hands.

Then it just stared. At this distance it was easier to see that the mask wasn’t a mask at all and he was correct in his first assumption. There were no seams or awkward floppiness to the material; the beak-like nose was hard and sharp, its skin was black leather, and its robes seemed to have no beginning or end. However, the biggest giveaway had to be its eyes.

They weren’t human eyes. Jim stared into them and the abyss itself was staring right back. The endless darkness of eternity and infinity wrapped around one another in a never-ending spiral welcomed him home. He released a breath. “Thank Turg there’s an actual normal person here!” His shoulders eased from a tension he hadn’t even known he was holding. “Even with the whole cosplay thing you’ve got going on— which I’m not judging!” he hurried to reassure it. “Different strokes for different folks and all that. It’s just such a relief, the other people here are very strange.”

It seemed to pause. “You are not like the other mortals here… no, not at all. The Pestilence cringes from your presence, it avoids you. Fascinating.” It titled his head in a move very much resembling the animal it resembled.

“You are exactly not, not not like the other immortals here. In fact, if all the other immortals in the world were in this hallway to hell, they would be jealous of how not, not not like them you not are.”

“...I am afraid I do not understand. I apologize for my ineptitude. Would you mind terribly repeating th—”

Jim leaned closer and Big Bird twitched. “Your eyes are so horrifying. I love that. May I touch them?” He already reached out a hand. “What’s your name anyway?” He poked its eye and hummed curiously. It felt like a frozen, peeled grape turned to stone.

“You can touch me... how curious.” You Can Touch Me, How Curious looked vaguely interested… or vaguely disturbed. It was hard to tell with the absence of any facial expressions.

Jim cringed. “I’m sorry to be the one to say it but that’s a horrible name and you should be disappointed in your parents.”

You Can Touch Me, How Curious straightened almost imperceptibly and stepped back to flick his cloak out, bending at the waist in a graceful bow. “My name is 049, I am as this Foundation calls it, an SCP. Just like you.” It looked him up and down, “Though you are not dressed as such. Curiouser and curiouser.” It hummed.

Jim’s eyes narrowed as 049’s hand fell back to his side and he watched the being like a hawk, enticed by the first hint of information he’d gotten since waking up. “They told me I’m D-9410, what’s an SCP? And what is this place? A Foundation, you said? A Foundation of what?”

“SCP: Secure, Contain, Protect. We currently reside in an underground maze of containment cells holding objects and beings whom this Foundation labels as anomalous. I am here because I am a doctor,” he gestured to the near mountain of dead bodies. “They need my cure to save humanity. You… I apologize terribly for my manners but may I inquire as to what is your name?”

“Ah, it’s Grognak the Destroyer Attorney at Law Esquire M.D., but you can just call me Grognak the Destroyer Attorney At Law… or Jim.”

“Splendid! Well Grognak the Destroyer Attorney at Law, a D-class you may be, but that is not all you are.” 049 turned around and walked to the body of a woman, her eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling. Jim recognized her as the one who’d called this place hell.

Pulling out a scalpel, 049 placed it at her sternum and with practiced hands, sliced her open to her pelvis.

“What do you mean?” Jim was many things: a lawyer, cult leader, psychopath, sexiest man alive, but he’s pretty sure 049 wasn’t trying to flatter him to get in his pants.

“You are anomalous. You Mr. Grognak the Destroyer Attorney at Law, are an SCP,” 049 answered, pulling out the woman's large intestine.

Jim sputtered. “I— I’m a what? I’m not an acronym, I’m just Jim!”

Standing up, 049 moved back to him and placed the intestine around his neck like a Hawaiian flower lei. “My touch ceases all biological functions in an organism,” he placed his leather-like finger on Jim’s forehead. “And yet you do not perish. As I said: anomalous. Now, if you shall excuse me, my work is of utmost paramount.”

049 paced back to the bodies and proceeded to ignore him in favour of scribbling in a little notebook and playing Mr. Potato with real body parts.

Jim didn’t know what to think. All evidence so far points to this place being a professional organization with somewhat trained personnel. Only somewhat trained or at best heavily unprepared because there’d just been a massacre and nobody seemed to care. Perhaps they’re on a lunch break... Or maybe massacres are encouraged here? Anyway, getting kidnapped and planning an escape had always been a fun way to relieve boredom for him. A way to pass the never-ending time if you will. And this place would be no different. He was almost… excited. It didn’t seem like this was a shady criminal organization on the FBI’s most wanted list. No, for some reason it seemed official to him. For all he knew, this Foundation was funded by the government or maybe even composed of government officials themselves.

As excited as he was, he suddenly felt quite unsure of himself and the role he wished to play here. Looking back at Thomas cowering behind him and 049 mutilating corpses he found that he wasn't quite sure where he wanted to fit in.

Then, as if the universe was protecting everyone from the potential catastrophe of Jim burying himself too deep in existential dread, a flood of soldiers appeared around the corner.

“Oh shit it's the po-po!” he yelled. Thomas flinched at his raised voice.

Half a second later 049 exclaimed, “Oh my, more victims of the disease.” It stood and walked towards them, dropping what looked like a kidney onto the floor and stretching its arm in front of itself, fingers already curled in a chokehold position. “Do not be scared, I am the cure.”

Jim barked out a laugh. “I like that guy. Delivering death and doing it with class.” He always appreciated a professional. Especially when the profession was murder.

Facing the somewhat recovered form of Thomas, Jim hopped off the dead body he’d been standing on and unintentionally knocked off the intestine hanging around his neck.

Somewhat recovered or not, Thomas was in no position to engage in conversation. Little tremors racked his body and vomit littered the front of his uniform. His eyes looked as unseeing as the body’s that lay before him.

Jim crouched down beside him and quickly snaked his hand towards the knife on Thomas’ belt holster.

“Thank you for willingly giving me this gift. I will appreciate it for as long as it's useful and then forget you ever did anything for me.” He bowed his head solemnly.

Hearing the telltale noise of a weapon being pumped and then an almost comical POP, he spun around to see the approaching soldiers had fired a large grenade from what looked like a bazooka at an unperturbed 049. Everything paused and the world narrowed as if in slow motion as he cocked his arm up, flicked his wrist, and opened his hand to send the knife he’d just borrowed flinging towards the flying projectile. All else fell silent and Jim swore he could hear Johnny Cash’s _Ring of Fire_ playing inside his head as the knife grew closer and closer to the fired grenade. Heads tilted back to watch the two objects fly towards one another. If the beginning of panic cresting on the soldier’s faces told him anything, it was that the outcome would not be favourable to them.

They would be right.

It was almost poetic watching the dagger pierce what was surely an object of death, sending it back to the guards in an explosion of purple gas.

Time returned to normal.

Shrapnel flew in all directions. Sharp pieces of metal sped into widened eyes. Blood became wallpaper as dozens of necks were sliced open, reducing the guards into human porcupines. Death was thick in the air, so tangible he swore he could smell it, feel it, touch it.

The first and second line of guards all fell back, adding another 30 corpses to the hall. Purple gas so thick it was opaque rose to conceal the rest of the lineup from Jim’s vision. Curiously, the distinct aroma of lavender invaded his nostrils and he wrinkled his nose just as he caught movement in his peripheral. SCP-049 stumbled through the purple haze, its outstretched arm slowly lowering before he disappeared from sight.

He watched the horrific scene for a second longer.

“Whelp, gotta blast!” Jim saluted Thomas.

Quickly running over the dead bodies he scrambled towards where he estimated the first line of guards ought to be and coughed as the already overwhelming scent of lavender grew stronger. It felt like it was clogging his throat and he couldn’t get a clean breath in. Dropping to his knees, he patted the ground blindly, muttering to himself.

“Come on, come on.” Feeling something wet, his fingers fumbled for a second and then held it up to his face, eyes burning from the smoke.

“Oh for the love of— the feck am I supposed to do with an eyeball?”

Winding his arm back he threw it as hard as he could back into the smoke and whatever lay beyond with a quiet grunt of exertion. The splatter as it ruptured on a guard’s face and their high pitched yelp went unheard in his sudden success.

“Aha! I feel a dead person! I caught a dead person!” He singsonged and then choked on his next inhale. “Feckin' gas I tell ya,” he coughed.

Grabbing a tight hold of the man’s limbs, he yanked the dead officer towards the door behind him, heaving them both across the door frame and into a different D-classes room. He wondered which of his dead cult member’s it belonged to, but ultimately deciding he didn’t care, he shrugged internally and hurriedly stripped himself and the body, leaving the door open in an effort to save the time it would take to close it. He’d never been all that modest anyway. Pulling his legs through the new uniform’s pant legs, he wisely decided to get himself dressed before redressing the body and continued to shove a pair of boots just a smidgen too small for his own feet on, freezing for a second when voices sounded beyond the door.

“Room 210 clear.”

“Room 212 clear.”

Jim cursed. Looks like backup had recovered from the purple haze of doom. He forced himself to hurry up, his fingers fumbled across his body, inefficient with the unfamiliar uniform. Snapping, buckling and zipping as fast as he could, he felt sweat building on his forehead, his muscles straining under the tension. He needed to finish before being found for his plan to work.

Footsteps approached his door.

Oh Turg he wasn’t finished.

Hurry, hurry, hurry.

_Just a few more seconds, come on, come on, come on..._

An officer appeared in the doorway, his gun pointed and mouth opening.

Jim froze.

A few moments passed and slowly the guard closed his mouth and dragged his eyes almost reluctantly down.

Down at the still naked guard.

Down at Jim’s pants.

Down to where Jim had just finished zipping up said pants.

The officer stared at the naked corpse.

Jim stared at the officer.

The officer stared at his crotch.

Jim stared at his own crotch.

They stared at each other.

Silence.

At a loss for what to say, and 95% sure he’d lost his chance at stealth, Jim held up a peace sign and smiled. Sweat dripped down his face and he wiped at it absentmindedly.

Keeping his gun pointed and ready, the officer pressed a hand to his ear.

Jim held his breath.

“Room 218. Uh, clear,” the guard spoke, somewhat hesitantly, eyes almost unnaturally wide.

Jim breathed out again and stared at his hand in awe. He probably wasn’t shot because his peace sign looked too awesome to remove from the world. He smirked. Even his fingers were talented.

The officer was already starting to back away when he seemed to hesitate once more. “Don’t ask, don’t tell… yeah?”

Jim held up two peace signs this time. “YEAH! I mean,” he lowered his voice, "Yes, sir." He attempted to seem calmer but he couldn't hold back the beam that started to stretch his face, showcasing his teeth in a wide grin.

If possible, the officer's face seemed to grow even more disturbed and he didn’t smile back, only glancing down at the body again and hightailing it out of the room.

“Phew, that was close huh,” he nudged the corpse and rubbed his hand over his pounding heart. “Glad we both made it out of that in one piece.” He chuckled to himself and looked up at the ceiling, his grin growing larger.

This room had an incandescent light bulb too!

_I wasn't the only one with a poor person's light bulb! They weren’t singling me out, this place is just poor in general! Thank Turg._

“You know, things are really starting to look up.” He smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit:  
> Oops! I forgot to mention that the quote "Oh shit, it's the po-po!" is from Kevin's video, "GTA V RP but I ruin a street race"


	3. Chapter 3

As soon as Jim exited the door, he donned his ‘I have compensation problems’ persona in order to fit right in with the other guards. Looking around at the bustling hall, he sniffed, spat on the floor, and walked like the upper half of his body was paralyzed. As expected, no one gave him a second glance. 

Edging along the wall to avoid the scary looking men holding guns and the massive pile of bodies, he finally made it through to the other side of the fading purple haze. 

Fifty or so other Foundation personnel stood at a 4-point intersection. Everybody was moving, confidently going about their tasks. They were chatting with each other, taking inventory of survivors, and preparing stretchers for the dead. Nobody seemed too bothered, but Jim assumed that would change when the smoke cleared up and they saw the organ fest ahead of them. 

_They_ _don’t_ _need_ _stretchers;_ _they need buckets and soap with_ _cold water_ _._

“My cure was most effective. The Pestilence had smothered that hall in disease! Those poor souls were lucky I was there. Death forbid what would have occurred had I not been.” 049 was standing in the middle of the intersection with staff personnel maintaining a 5-meter radius around him. His wrists were locked in handcuffs and two rods extending from a collar around his neck were firmly held in the grasps of wary officers. 

Jim had an idea. 

He walked closer, pausing only to let a medical team rush past him. Approaching one end of the rods, he spoke to the man holding it. “Hey, I just finished clearing up my section, it should be all good. Good thing I was here to contribute.” Jim nodded decisively. 

The man didn’t even look at him. “That’s great, but I’m a little busy keeping a walking death machine fro—” 

He didn’t let him finish. “Yup, we all did it together boys. Equal effort from all of us. I know I did the most equal work that has ever been... equaled.” 

“Listen bud, seriously, I’m busy. Piss off.” His lip curled and he briefly took his eyes off SCP-049 to glare. It’s not like Jim _wanted_ to spend more time with this nutjob, it just so happened that he was in the way. 

The hallway continued to bustle behind him and he heard surprised exclamations and several gasps. He looked over his shoulder and sure enough, the purple haze had faded and the corpse mountain was now visible. He needed to act fast. 

Whipping his head back to the irate man, he raised Thomas’ level 3 keycard, flashing it in the light. “I have the authority here, so YOU listen to ME _bud._ This is how its gonna g—" 

“This is what we’re not about to fucking do,” the man growled. “You sure as fucking hell do not get to speak to me like that. Not only do I rank above you, but we’re in the middle of a crises here if you haven’t noticed?” He sneered and looked Jim up and down, apparently finding him lacking. “Congratulations, you just landed yourself a demotion. Give me your name and Task Force number or I’ll—” 

Jim tilted his head. “I’m sorry I offended you. Could you could please teach me to be more sensitive like you so I can be more in touch with my emotions?” 

“That’s it!” The man threw the extended restraint to the floor and gave Jim his full attention. Rage twisted his features, but unlike Thomas it certainly wasn’t doing him any favours. His fists were practically vibrating with murderous intent and sure enough he cocked his arm back, twisted his body, and sent his fist flying towards Jim’s face. 

If the punch landed it would surely break his nose, or if hit correctly send the small bones in his nose straight into his brain, impaling the soft tissue and killing him instantly. 

That’s only if it hit. 

As it were, Jim only sighed and geared himself up for whatever disaster this punch would bring. Watching the man’s impeccable form with detached boredom, he almost didn’t hear the **POP!** behind him. He could count the grooves and small hairs on the fist millimeters from his face when something whistled past his ear and suddenly the hand disappeared. 

Purple exploded around him again. 

“ _Sorry!_ My bad, misfire!” A voice sheepishly called, but the guard who tried to punch him was already screaming. The smoke grenade imploded right in the face. 

_Ah, hearing people scream never gets old. Like music to my soul._

Most people didn’t seem to share his sentiment, their faces struck with horror while watching the man roll on the ground, moaning in agony. The hands he held over his eyes were dripping with blood and shaking so violently it’d be beyond his capabilities to curl his fingers around a glass of water, never mind keep it from spilling. 

“ _I can’t see, I can’t see_ , please, please, oh god, _I can’t see!_ ” the man choked on a sob, absolutely hysterical. A few medical staff arrived with a stretcher and he was taken away. He didn’t react to his displacement, just kept repeating the same thing over and over again. “ _I can’t see, I can’t see._ ” 

The woman who misfired the weapon followed him, having run over sometime during the commotion once she realized she’d hit someone and was now scratching at her arms and tugging on her hair. She couldn’t seem to stay still, crouching down one moment and then jumping to her feet the next, all while looking as if she was trying to tear herself apart. Trying to rip out the knowledge of what she’d done to her victim. 

Well, Jim’s victim. They couldn’t know it, but he’d wanted this to happen, needed the man out of the way. He knew what he was doing when he drove the man to violence. 

Everything was going according to plan. 

And then the dead rose. 

“Zombies!” Jim gasped, backing up a step. Bodies with gaping holes where their inner organs should be stood up as if they only had flesh wounds, immediately lashing their gaze onto the humans surrounding them. 

He wasn’t afraid though, far from it actually. He _loved_ zombies. 

_Look at them go! Brain dead and still smarter than the average_ _American_ _._

“Instances of SCP-049-2 are loose! I repeat, multiple cases of SCP-049-2 are loose. Fire at will!” The hallway of guards jumped into action at last. Medical personnel retreated completely, forgoing stretchers and simply grabbing whoever they could by the feet and pulling them back. 

If he thought things were bad during The Purple Explosion™… oh boy. 

A cacophony of shots rang through the hall as the zombies started to steadily pace towards them. Brains and blood went flying and… is that a molotov? 

Jim leaned forward and squinted. 

Viciously hot flames roared to life, licking their way through a cluster of the living dead. The fire peeled the skin from their bones and ate away at their faces, melting it all off like candle wax. 

He reared back. _Definitely a_ _molotov_ _._

It was a bit annoying that the bodies being so mutilated belonged to his former cult (RIP, 2020-2020). They weren’t together long but he felt like they could have been really useful. Regardless of the fact that they were so ugly. 

The fire slowed down just then and more zombies broke through, the miniature army of them wisely avoiding the flames where they could. He turned to look at SCP-049 and found him watching peacefully. Or so he thought. Looking closer, it appeared as if 049 was... twitching his head? Jim spun back around just in time to see a smaller group of zombies break off in the same direction 049’s head had moved. They quickly overwhelmed a soldier that’d been cut off from his brethren. Huh. Seems like Bird Man has his own army of the dead. 

Wicked. 

A bullet whizzed past his head just as someone grabbed his arm. Before he could reprimand the brute, they swiped the extension restraint connected to 049’s collar off the floor and shoved it into his arms. Jim fumbled with it for a second before looking up into the face of a grizzly old man holding a very large shotgun. 

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” he barked. “Get out of here and take that thing with you. Go!” He spat on the floor and spun back to the battle, pumping his shotgun and firing at a zombie that’d broken through the ranks in one smooth move. The bullet hit it right between the eyes. 

Okay, Jim could admit that was pretty cool. 

He hadn’t even planned on zombies entering the equation, but it worked out pretty well for him all things considered. Glancing down at the rod, he tracked it back to the collar on 049’s neck. 

Not bad at all. 

Lifting his eyes from 049 he made eye contact with the man holding the other steel rod across from him and nodded. The man was tanned with blonde hair that fell to his shoulders and the occasional small braid. He looked like the poster child for the stereotypical surfer dude and Jim prayed to Turg that he wasn’t some tree hugging hippy. 

Blondie nodded back and motioned his fingers to the right. Taking the hint, Jim nodded once more and then they were leaving the mosh pit. The cacophony of guns firing, people screaming, and orders being called slowly faded until all that was left was the ringing in his ears. 

Without his zombie minions, 049 at last took notice of who now held his restraints. It was almost comical watching him dart glances in his direction. Probably wondering if he was friend or foe. 

_Why d_ _oesn’t he just lunge in one direction to throw us off balance and escape?_ _Heh, One Direction. Na na na na na na na na na na. Na na na na na na._

“—that just happened.” Oh, Blondie was trying to talk to him. 

Jim focused again and turned his gaze back to the man opposite him. “I’m sorry, what?” 

“I said I can’t believe that just happened.” 

Jim nodded gravely. “Yes, that was probably traumatizing to normal people.” 

The other guy snorted, “You said it man. I’ve seen bodies torn apart right in front of me, good men kill themselves, families destroyed, lives ruined, every time I think I’ve seen it all, then… then just BOOM! Shit like that happens and we’re left picking up the pieces.” 

Jim jumped a bit, glancing at the wildly gesturing officer. “Yep, it uh, I guess you could say it really do be boomin’ here.” 

Blondie laughed, the sound full and hearty as it rang through the empty corridor. They were on what felt like their hundredth turn and he knew he should be paying attention to their route, but with the sheer number of corners they’d turned and doors they had to pause to open, he couldn’t be bothered. “Anyway, you’ve been here for a while dude? I’ve survived for six years somehow, but I’ve never seen you before. The name’s—” 

“The Pestilence is positively devouring you,” 049 interrupted, apparently deciding now was the perfect time to speak up. 

“ **NO ONE ASKED YOU!** ” The man screeched like a chain-smoking parrot and spittle flew from his mouth, almost landing on 049’s cloak. 

Jim actually jumped this time and blinked in his shock. 049 looked at him and they shared a potent moment of mutual disbelief that could only be translated into _what in the absolute fuck._ Perhaps his new friend was a bit more affected from his time working here than he initially let on. That outburst was just _a bit_ of an overreaction, and that’s coming from _him_ , the CEO of being extra. He longed for Thomas’ intensely focused murderous resolve, rather than this banshee. 

“As I was saying, I’m Officer Leo Dubois. I’m level 3 and I’ve got a frankly, _fantastic_ personality if I do say so myself.” He gave Jim a lopsided grin. 

Ah, he’s French. Makes sense. 

Jim’s returning smile was very forced, but Leo either didn’t notice or didn’t seem to care, simply giving him a wink and humming to himself as he stepped ahead to call down an elevator. The elevator was massive, large enough to fit two cars facing each other inside and still have breathing room. When they stepped out, they turned yet another corner and almost ran into a running group of scientists. Their long white lab coats flapped behind them as they barreled through like a migrating colony of geese. 

“Hey listen,” Jim waited until they passed. “I think I have acute, non-medically recognized _amnosia_ or something ‘cause I remember shit-all about the uh, the Foundation. You think you could help a self-diagnosed lad out?” Leo was practically Thomas’ opposite and while that was certainly a con in some ways, he might as well take advantage of the man’s chattiness while they had time. 

“Damn, you got an amnestic huh? That’s how they get you man. I always say that’s how they get you.” Leo shook his head. “Go ahead.” 

“I know that they— _we_ contain ‘anomalous’ beings or whatever, but what does that _mean_ ? I’ve been here for _ages_ and I haven’t seen anything anomalous!” Jim threw his hands up, jostling 049’s collar. 

Leo burst out laughing. They paused their walking as he bent over his knees, gasping for air and slapping his knee. He laughed like that for almost a minute straight, a very uncomfortable minute. Seriously, who laughs for that long? “That’s funny as hell man. You’re—” he broke off in another chuckle. “You’re funny. I can tell we’re gonna be good friends.” 

Jim dragged a hand down his face. “Can you actually answer it? Just humour me.” He paused, “Please?” For some reason a single word can make all the difference to humans. He personally found the notion of manners completely useless and a waste of oxygen, but unfortunately, it’s sometimes necessary. 

Leo smiled at him again. “Well, I’m sure you must have noticed that something about this situation isn’t particularly _normal_.” He made a vague gesture in Jim’s direction and raised his eyebrows. 

Except Jim didn’t know. He didn’t see anything too weird. The decor was absolutely frightening in its ugliness, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t what Leo was suggesting, so he only stared at the loud man blankly. 

Leo rolled his eyes and chuckled again. “The Plague Doctor right in front of you, hello? This bird bitch right here? I mean, look at the sniffer on it eh? Gives the Toucan a run for its money, it’s practically a flashing neon sign for ‘anomalous being.’” 

049 twitched. “I am not a— a bird bitch. I am a doctor.” His posh accent thickened in his offence. 

Leo’s face morphed into a scowl. “Oh yeah? Why don’t you shit on the floor like the bird you are and shut the fuck up.” 

“Absolutely disgraceful, I have never—” 

“ _Anyway,_ moving on,” he broke in, looking between the two with a raised brow. “Back to you humouring me. How is 049 anomalous? He’s a doctor, I don't get it.” The day Jim ever thought he would play the reasonable mediator in a fight is the same day he thought the almighty Turg would take his soul to hell. 

“You _have_ to get me whatever you’re on man.” Leo guffawed. 

Snapping his mouth open to either repeat the question or snarl in frustration, he didn’t know and he’d never know when he was interrupted _again_ by more Foundation personnel. 

“SCP-049 is restrained and in sight.” 

He almost stomped a foot in frustration, only just holding himself back. It's best to leave his stomping to villages. His frustration stemmed from the limited time he might have with Leo. It was unclear if the man was going to stick with him after they rid themselves of 049 or if he’d lose such a willing source of information. His original plan was to get 049 alone and interrogate him, but Leo worked just as well. It’s not like 049 was going anywhere anytime soon anyways if the looks of his room were any indication. 

Two guards stood before a massive gate entrance. Large text on the wall above it read “SCP-049: EUCLID” and a poster below stated the same thing, but featured a glamour shot of 049 and the warning “Sentient and Violent.” 

These guards had helmets that covered their faces completely from view. This, in addition to their all black uniforms made them look like something straight out of a Hollywood action flick. One of them stepped away from a keypad and watched the gate open while the other eyed SCP-049’s approach, keeping their gun trained on him. 

It was kind of getting ridiculous at this point. What did 049 have that he didn’t? Everyone here can hardly seem to look away from him. No offence to 049, but he agreed with Leo about the resemblance to a bird. He legitimately thought it was cosplaying as one for the longest time. Meanwhile, he was in peak physical condition, a true testament to the beauty of the male form. 

Like he said, these people were not normal. 

The gate opened and a team of 5 more guards with helmets walked out. Before he could process what was happening, they took the restraints from him and forced 049 through the large opening. SCP-049 twisted as if trying to look back, but was yanked forward with a growled warning. No sound left its mouth (beak?), but it stumbled and with as much grace as possible, caught itself and glided through the gates. 

Looking beyond the entrance, there was an initial control room with a desk covered in papers, several large levers, and a tabletop microphone. The desk was pushed up against the wall underneath a window looking into 049’s room. 

If you could even call it that. 

It was completely empty, no bed, chairs, desk, nothing. Nothing at all. Barren and desolate, it was even worse than Jim’s former cell. If he was capable of empathy, he’d probably be feeling bad right now. 

“Come on bro, we’re off work until someone finds us.” Leo grinned and waved goodbye to the guards who waved back. “I’ll answer your questions in the caf, I’m starving.” 

Taking one last look at the cell, he followed Leo once again. 

* * *

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting walking into the cafeteria, but from what he’d seen from the facility so far, it certainly wasn’t this. It was absolutely massive with an open floor plan and a tall ceiling, heavenly in comparison to the somewhat narrow corridors in the rest of the building. Long tables dominated the tiled floors and people milled about, relaxing and chatting with each other as if there hadn’t been a massacre just a short walk away from them. They walked past the kitchen where Jim could see a whole team of staff furiously cooking as if their lives depended on it. Considering it was approaching the peak of dinner time, perhaps it did. If the size of the room was anything to go by, they had a lot of mouths to feed. 

Taking a seat at the table Leo led them to, he glanced around the room curiously and did a double take. A line of about 20 people were waiting for their turn at… at a vending machine. 

Jim blinked. 

_Lining up for a vending machine…_ _I’d_ _sooner cut off my foot and eat it._ _How is it possible that they are_ poorer _than I_ _thought?_

Leo grabbed them footlong sandwiches and two bags of chips, barely sitting down before ripping into it like he hadn’t eaten in days. Jim watched with muted fascination before gingerly unwrapping the plastic from his own sandwich and sniffing it. 

He nearly gagged. _Turg have mercy._

“Smells like dog shite I know, but it's damn good. Give it a go.” Leo mumbled around the frankly concerning large bite he stuffed in his mouth. He was all teeth as he grinned unabashedly, showing his current chewing progress. 

If the smell alone hadn’t made him lose his appetite before, he’d definitely lost it now. He moved to place it back on the table but Leo stared at him expectantly, so he sighed and gave in, taking the smallest nibble of a bite. 

_...Huh, it actually is pretty good._

Leo’s eyes twinkled at him knowingly, but he didn’t say I told you so which Jim was thankful for. If he had, then he would’ve been snapping the neck of a very valuable resource. 

Leo swallowed. “So, Thomas, you had more questions?” 

Jim jolted as if struck. “Where’s Thomas?” He swiveled in his seat, scanning the room. He found the room just as it was a few moments before, although it looked like the line to the vending machine was getting smaller. He turned back with a question already on his tongue when he noticed Leo eyeing his keycard. 

Ah. He was still wearing Thomas’ keycard. The keycard which Thomas graciously allowed Jim to borrow. 

“This isn't mine; my best friend gave me his so I could think of him whenever I get sad,” he clarified. “My name is actually Grognak the Destroyer Attorney at Law.” 

Leo stared at him blankly for a second and then burst out laughing. “Your humour is weird man, I like it. Okay, Grognak it is.” 

Jim didn’t know what was so funny about his name but decided to just let it go, there were more important questions to ask. He finished chewing and asked, “Can you give me some examples of the anomalous things here? I really don’t know anything.” Apart from 049 (and he still didn’t understand why the doctor was considered so abnormal), he hadn’t heard or seen a single thing that could be classified as an SCP in their walk through the hallways. For a place that kept titanium grade cells at the ready, it’d been oddly quiet. 

Leo whistled. “Damn they really got you good with that amnestic huh. Not to worry uh, how do I start this… well let’s start with the basics. First, there’s three main classes of SCPs— that’s what we call the anomalies. There’s Safe, Euclid, and Keter. Safe means we understand them and they’re easy to contain, so they don’t pose as much of a threat. But don’t let that fool you,” he warned. “That’s how they try and getchya, I’m tellin’ you.” 

He paused to take another bite. “Those bastards can still be deadly as fuck, they just don’t need as much supervision and resources to keep ‘em tied up.” 

“They’re deadly... but they’re safe?” 

“Yeah, I know that sounds batshit, but this whole facility is batshit. Like…” he paused for a second. “Like SCP-993. It’s a T.V. show for kids about a clown or something and we classify it as Safe. Seems innocent right?” 

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say it’s not.” Jim replied dryly. 

“And you’d be right. Anyone older than 10 that tries to watch it is forced unconscious.” He scoffed. “A fucking television show knocks you out. And what’s worse, the kids that have watched it say it encourages cannibalism and torture and if you watch it enough, you get irreversible schizophrenic symptoms. It gives you a mental illness dude, shits crazy.” 

Jim frowned. “That’s so unfair.” 

“That’s just life man and it only goes downhill from here. Hold on, I’m gonna go get us some drinks. All this talking is making me thirsty.” Leo stood up and walked over to that stupid looking vending machine, stopping to enthusiastically greet a few people along the way. 

“Why can’t I watch cannibalism and torture on cable TV? How is it fair that only the kids get to?” Of course, life isn’t fair and the needs of children should always come first, blah blah blah, whatever. It doesn’t mean he has to like it. He scowled. “Ageism is rampant in this facility.” 

A few moments of silent stewing later and Leo was back with a pair of poco grande glasses. He dropped two swirly straws and a red umbrella in each of the drinks respectively. 

“Two pina coladas with extra rum, bon appetite.” He winked. 

“You got this from a shitty vending machine?” Jim, still in a bad mood, practically tore it from his hands and took an experimental sip, prepared to hate it just to be petty. Too bad it tasted phenomenal. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see himself relaxing on a beach, performing obscure and morbid rituals for fun. Had he been misjudging vending machines for all this time? 

But Leo was already shaking his head. “It’s not a normal vending machine. That’s SCP-294. Type in any drink you want, anything you can think of, and you’ll get it for the small price of 50 cents. Pretty good deal if you ask me.” 

Jim raised his eyebrows. “Is it also rated Safe then?” It must be. How could you go wrong with a _vending_ _machine._

“Nah, strangely enough it's Euclid. SCPs are Euclid if we don’t fully understand them or if they’re unpredictable. You see those guards on either side of 294?” He gestured vaguely to the other side of the room and sure enough a man and a woman were vigilantly watching everyone who approached. “They only added guards a few years ago cause someone asked for ‘a cup of Joe’ and the closest guy named Joe collapsed. It sucked most of the bodily fluids out of him dude. He had to be hospitalized.” Leo grimaced and raised his glass to his lips, ignoring the straw and taking a large gulp. “Now they make sure no one tries to be funny and order lava or something.” 

Jim hummed. “The poster outside 049’s cell said Euclid, I think. What has he done to make him unpredictable?” He paused to take the umbrella out of his cup, wipe it off and stick it behind his ear. “He seemed like a perfectly normal doctor to me.” 

Leo deadpanned, “He kills people with just a touch and then operates on them to make his own personal zombie slaves.” 

Jim scoffed. As if humans haven’t done far, far worse than that in the history of humanity. Hell, _he'd_ done far worse. “Don’t be dramatic, he’s really not that bad, you just haven’t given him a chance. You know, you might even come to like the guy.” He didn’t think 049 would ever return the favour seeing as Leo apparently reeked of ‘The Pestilence,’ but that’s not the point. “Plus, I touched him and look at me! Perfectly normal and sane.” 

“You’d be dead if you touched it, trust me dude. I know it’s hard ‘cause you’re a good man Grognak, but you gotta stop humanizing it. 049’s a monster hidden behind formal mannerisms and a posh accent. That thing is half a step away from being labelled Keter and Keter SCPs…” He whistled. “You do not want to mess with those guys.” 

Loud laughing and chatter sounded behind him and he turned to watch as a massive group of guards walked into the cafeteria. The noise in the large room seemed to rise a couple decibels. 

“Looks like the night shift guys are up,” Leo paused and then made a sound of exclamation. “And no wonder, look at the time! We better head back to the barracks now. I don’t know which block you usually stay in, but you can chill at mine for the night. Come on, I’ll show you the way.” 

Well that solves that problem. He’d resigned himself to a night of wandering the halls trying to avoid other guards or making a go back to the room he’d woken up in, but that was the worst-case scenario. Returning to his cell was not particularly appealing and that entire hallway was bound to be bustling with people after the massacre. It would be impossible to go unnoticed and far too much trouble for a threadbare mattress in a glorified cupboard. 

He didn’t thank Leo, that would be weird because the man hadn’t an idea that Jim didn’t have a place to stay, but he grinned up at him and that was that. Leo collected their sandwich wrappers up and threw them in the trash while he grabbed their empty glasses and handed them to the kitchen staff. He kept his mini umbrella. 

Making sure the paper drink decoration was still securely tucked in his ear, he turned around when he heard a voice call over the noise 

“AYY it’s Leo! I didn’t see you there buddy!” A lean man with rich, golden skin slammed his chair to the ground as he surged to his feet. He held a breakfast sausage in his hand and he held it out, pointed at Leo’s face. As if that was the catalyst, dozens of other voices rang from the table the man stood from, all calling out to Leo. 

“Come sit with us Leo!” A broad-shouldered woman gave him a catcall and grinned wolfishly at him. “You know you want to!” 

And on and on it went, choruses of, “Leo, how you doin' my man?” and “Hey Leo, it’s been a minute since I’ve seen you my brother!” The greetings overlapped each other until one wasn’t distinguishable from the rest. It wasn’t until someone yelled, “What happened to your face? I don’t remember you being this ugly last time I saw you!” That caused the group to burst into laughter. 

Everyone clapped joyously at the roast, continuing to rib Leo good-naturedly and wave him over. They were all playfully smiling, sharing food and enjoying one another’s company. Practically a stock photo image of happiness. 

Sickening. 

Turning away from the group with a grimace, he caught notice of a strange looking man not joining in with the group, much like Jim himself. He was off to the side, leaning against a wall and staring at them sadly. He held his hands folded in front of him where he fiddled with them before pulling them apart to wrap his arms around his torso. Perhaps he’s socially awkward? Or maybe he’s been ostracized and bullied? 

Jim found that he did not give a shit either way and promptly forgot the strange man existed. 

Meanwhile, Leo was still beaming and laughing as he worked his way through the table, slapping his friends on their backs and giving bro hugs. When he reached the end, he started walking backwards towards Jim. “Sorry guys, not today, I’m helping my new friend out.” Cue a chorus of boos, “But don’t worry I’ll be back sometime to give your asses the beatings they need!” 

They started yelling expletives and shaking their fists in exaggerated rage. “Now you’ve done it, you’re on!” someone shouted and everyone broke character, breaking into peals of laughter again and waving goodbye. 

_Looks like_ someone’s _popular._

Leo jogged to his side. “Sorry about that, love those guys but they can be a lot for a newbie. I’ll introduce you sometime.” Jim didn’t particularly enjoy loud people, but he wasn’t about to turn down an opportunity for free cult members so he nodded. 

They left the cafeteria and Leo started leading him presumably back to his barracks. Leo turned to him. “What were we talking about again? I told you about Euclid SCPs, right?” He tilted his head and then had to push a strand of his long blonde hair behind his ear when it fell into his face. 

“Yes, you were just about to tell me about carrot SCPs. You said they were frightening?” Frankly Jim thought the notion of a vegetable being scary completely ridiculous, but he was trying to keep an open mind. 

“Carrot? Oh, you mean Keter.” Leo snorted. “As disturbingly orange and crunchy as they are, carrots are nowhere near as bad as Keter SCPs, nasty sons of bitches I tell ya.” 

“I’m guessing they don’t _Ke_ _ter_ to our needs then. Ahaa, get it?” He held his hands up as finger guns. “Because it sounds like cater? That's the joke...” 

But his explanation was not necessary as Leo burst out laughing, bending over his knees. He slapped said knee for a good 15 seconds and then straightened, wiping a tear from his eye. “Right you are. That was a good one.” His smile slowly slid off his face, becoming intensely serious. “No, Keter SCPs are often extremely vicious and exceedingly difficult to contain. SCP-096 for example, we call him Shy Guy.” He shivered. “Gives me the fucking creeps.” 

“Oh yeah, like those cute little guys from Super Mario.” He always loved those guys because they have no personality and they all look the same. 

Leo started, “Grognak, that’s not—” 

Jim continued talking over him. “I can’t believe you guys have them here, I didn’t even know they were real! Oh man, this is great. I’m loving this new development. This has to be the universe giving back to me for all the joy I’ve spread today.” 

Leo cut him a dry look. “No, it’s not great Grognak. Shy Guy is not cute, he’s more like Slender Man if it lost half its body fat and stripped naked. If you take one look at its face, even if it's just a photograph, it’ll rip you apart and there’s no stopping it. You could be on the moon and that bugger would ride a rocket ship to get your ass. I don’t know what your definition of great is, but that praying mantis lookin’ ass motherfucker isn’t mine.” 

“Just cause you don’t like the guy doesn’t mean you have to body shame him,” Jim muttered under his breath. He wondered about the logistics of riding a rocket ship anyway. It’s not like they’re constantly shooting into space or a space station can be found right next to your local grocery store, there’d have to be one pretty close to here. But he didn’t even know where here was. 

“Hey Leo?” The man looked at him. “Where exactly are we? I know we’re underground, but where?” 

“The Foundation has locations across the world from India to Germany to Australia. We’re worldwide, baby.” He threw his hand in the classic ‘hang loose’ gesture. “This facility is in the States, I’m surprised they made you forget even that. What did you do man?” 

Jim shrugged. “I have _amnosia."_

Leo paused and slapped himself in the forehead. “Of course you don’t know, that’s the whole point of not remembering. That was stupid, sorry.” He ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head, laughing at himself before he started walking again. “But uh yeah, the location we’re in now is the largest containment facility in the world, though I guess the United Kingdom’s facility is only _somewhat_ smaller. We’re still better than them though because this facility is said to be the first of all facilities.” 

Leaning in closer, Leo lowered his voice until it was just above a whisper, “Legend says that the entire concept of The Foundation, everything we are— our goals, our rules, our responsibilities, everything, was all created by one person: The Administrator. If they exist, they would be the most powerful person in the world.” He pulled away suddenly, resuming a normal volume. “But we know dogshit about who they are so don’t get too excited.” 

They swiped their card readers through another door and turned a corner. A gate much like the one caging SCP-049 greeted them except it read ‘BARRACKS: BLOCK A” written above it. Leo swiped his card again and the gate started to unfurl, starting from the middle and moving outwards. 

“So, we contain and study these anomalous objects? Does everyone know they exist?” Jim asked. 

Leo nodded as the gate finished opening. “It's our job to guard the rest of the world from these fuckers, so we need to know as much as we can about them to keep ‘em contained. It’s all top-secret shit though, none of the public know about the Foundation except for the leaders of each country, and even then, they get an amnestic once their term is over.” 

The barracks was much like the cafeteria in size, but instead of tables it had bunk beds and nightstands. People idly milled about; the atmosphere far more subdued. Leo walked over to an empty bunk bed at the far back wall of the room. 

Jim watched him go. “Weaponized amnosia _,_ why didn’t I think of that?”

Leo looked over his shoulder. “Come on,” he shouted. “You can sleep here tonight. If that’s against the rules, tell them I didn’t know.” He grinned cheekily. 

Jim hurried to catch up. “Don’t worry, snitches get stitches and I’m the one that puts them in ditches.” They reached the bed, but when Leo reached forward to climb up the ladder to the top bunk, Jim blocked him. Leo stared at him. 

“People are beneath me, never above me,” he answered the silent question. 

Raising an eyebrow, Leo snorted and conceded, dropping down to the bottom bunk. “Whatever floats your boat, man. Honestly, I think I could sleep anywhere at this point. I didn’t realize it before, but seeing all those dead bodies,” he shook his head. “It really hits you in the quiet moments you know? I feel like my brain has had enough and it’s time to power off.” 

Jim swung his head over the edge of the bed. “Wait! Hold off on your trauma fueled sleep for a second. Do you know what a D-class is? These other guards called m—” he stopped. “They called _someone else_ that and I didn’t understand.” 

Leo yawned. “D-classes are criminals that the Foundation takes and uses as guinea pigs to test all the SCPs. Not a nice way to go, but they’re usually rapists and the like. Anyway, I’m really about to pass out, sorry we can’t chat more. It was fun hanging with you Grognak, I’m glad we met.” He gave Jim a weak but genuine smile. “Goodnight, see you tomorrow.” And then his head hit the pillow and he was out like a light, snoring softly. 

Jim let his own head fall back and grabbed the comforter to pull it over his face. That’s _what a D-class is?_ _They were going to use_ me _as a piece of cheese for all the entities trapped here? I’m more than bait, more than some discardable sacrifice to use for their own twisted means and then toss away._

He rolled over, hmphing. 

It was strange to think that just 12 hours ago he was waking up in a much different room with no idea what was going on, but he somehow had more questions now than before. How did he get here? He didn’t remember a task force invading his mansion, he’d gone to bed as usual and when he woke up, he was here. What if he was in a different dimension or something? He’d never heard a lick of anything about a super-secret Foundation and super-secret secrets were his favourite. 

Contradicting his earlier opinion, this place didn’t actually seem all that organized. SCP-049 was roaming the halls unrestrained even though they all seem to be so scared of him. While the doctor was missing you’d think they would be on high alert, but even then, they didn’t notice the literal massacre happening until everyone was already dead. He was a key witness in said massacre, completely innocent of course, but he saw it all happen and nobody even questioned him for fecks sake! 

He needed a plan. A strategy to focus on so he could play the long game. It’s gonna have to be big, and it’s gonna have to be good. He wasn’t sure what they wanted with him, but if there’s anything he’s more than used to, it’s people wanting him for his body. He’d think more on it tomorrow. It’s not procrastinating if you actually do it, right? 

Closing his eyes, he forced himself to wind down. It wasn’t all that difficult, the quiet noises of people all around him shifting in their sleep was surprisingly relaxing and before he knew it, he was lost to the world...

If only he hadn't woken up to the barrel of a gun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line: "Could you could please teach me to be more sensitive like you so I can be more in touch with my emotions?” is taken directly from his video "Star Wars RP but the empire has had enough shenanigans"
> 
> Thank you again for reading and for the kudos! It really means a lot :)


	4. Chapter 4

When Jim opened his eyes, they immediately went cross eyed.

He was staring down the barrel of a gun.

“Sit up and put your hands in the air or we’ll blow your fucking brains out.” 

New plan: there is no plan. Fuck this facility.

Random people can point their guns at him, but no one wakes him up from his beauty sleep, that’s where he draws the line.

Jim unfocused his eyes on the gun and discretely glanced around. The entire barracks was awake and staring at him. He spotted Leo at the front of the crowd, looking incredibly confused. When he saw Jim looking he gave a thumbs up and made a nasty expression at the tactical team surrounding his bunk bed. Jim almost smiled.

“Did you not fucking hear me? Get up or we _will_ execute you.” There were ten officers surrounding him, all pointing their weapons at him. The closest to him was the one speaking, but she wore a helmet so he couldn’t see her face. He didn’t doubt her threat, he just didn’t care all that much.

Jim put his hand under his head and bent his knee, pretending he was posing for a magazine cover, “Do it.”

She faltered. Her brows raised as if that wasn’t what she was expecting to hear. 

“You _want_ us t—” 

“To shoot me, yes. What’s the point in aiming a gun at me if you’re not gonna shoot? Do it. Don’t tease me with sweet oblivion and then not follow through. That’s just rude.”

Now the entire barracks was silent, curious whispers and pointing fingers falling flat. Even Leo was uncharacteristically serious.

“Oh, you were making idle threats then? Don’t get my hopes up next time,” Jim flicked his covers back with a dramatic toss of his hand.

Three guards pulled their triggers. Their guns clicked.

Nothing.

One of them cursed. “I could have sworn I turned the safety off…”

Leo suddenly stepped forward with his hands raised and palms facing forward. “Look, he’s up now, just take him away yeah? Didn’t you say they wanted to use him for testing or something? That’d be pretty hard to do if he’s, you know, dead.” His laugh sounded forced.

Jim opened his mouth to say that it didn’t matter to him either way, but Leo cut a sharp glance at him. It was so unlike his usual carefree attitude that he found himself closing his mouth with a snap. Maybe his blatant disregard for his own life was distressing to others?

The gun lady sighed. “Whatever, I don’t care, just get your ass out of bed 9410 before I lose my patience. God knows I don’t get paid enough for this.” She scoffed and mumbled, “I don’t think anyone could get paid enough to do this.” 

Jim heaved himself forward and sluggishly climbed down the bunk bed ladder. As soon as his feet touched the floor she yanked both his hands so they were pressed together in front of him and handcuffed them, obviously impatient with his slow pace. 

“You don’t need to restrain me, I might stomp villages but that doesn’t make me a monster.” He wrinkled his nose, “Or at least ask first, consent is important lady.” Leo choked on air and started coughing in what sounded suspiciously like laughing.

She didn’t seem to find it nearly as amusing. She raised a hand up and drew it back to slap him just as he heard a faint voice coming from the earpiece in her helmet. “What the fuck is taking so long, if he’s not complying just shoot him.”

Her hand fell back down. “Copy that. We’re on route.” They formed a circle around him and without further ado, started pulling him towards the exit. He didn’t bother resisting, curious to see where this went. At least he could say he wouldn’t be bored.

It was only when they left the doors to the barracks when he realized he’d just made a huge mistake.

_I forgot my mini umbrella._

* * *

They’d been walking for about 15 minutes in silence, and Jim was just as confused with the layout of the facility as he was yesterday. He was pretty sure they were going to a separated section of the facility because nearly the entire walk was spent going through a long dark tunnel, but he honestly couldn’t be sure. His destination was still on the same floor however, so just below ground level if his estimations were correct. They probably thought the long walk was making him nervous with anticipation or something. It was a good idea, if a bit basic, but he’s a sociopath so he found himself quite enjoying the morning walk. He’s not afraid of much really. In fact, he could say there’s only one thing he’s afraid of. His palms started to sweat just thinking about it: cars. Specifically, cars moving towards him.

Absolutely horrifying.

Distracted as he was while thinking about his mortal enemies, he didn’t notice they had stopped until he was being uncuffed. Looking around he found himself in another large room. A balcony wrapped around three of the walls, all facing a large gate. More tactical officers surrounded the room’s perimeter and his escorts moved to join them. 

A man he had never seen before, wearing a standard lab coat with his arms laced behind him, was smirking at him. He had almost translucently pale skin, dark red hair tied back in a small ponytail, and was on the shorter side. His general demeanour reminded Jim of that narcissistic ginger kid from _The Incredibles._ And he did look like a kid, younger than Leo even, maybe around his early to mid-twenties.

“Subject D-9410, you caused quite the trouble for us yesterday. Quite the trouble indeed.” The man sauntered closer, the keycard clipped to his coat pocket read Dr. Daniel Corner: Researcher. It swayed in time with his steps. 

“Or perhaps we should be calling you Thomas, hm? Is that your new name?” He flicked the ID Jim still had strapped to his guard uniform.

Dr. Corner continued before he could respond, “You could take that name if you so wish. Do we have a Thomas Knox working for us here?” He swivelled around the room, waiting for someone to speak up. No one did. “No? No, we don’t, do we. That _is_ curious... _Oh_ , I almost forgot how silly of me. I suppose you couldn’t take that name anyway could you? Do you know why?” He stopped as if expecting an answer but when Jim opened his mouth he kept going. “Because you’re _nothing_. You have no rights, you’re not even considered a person here. Just a D-class destined to be nothing more than a brief source of entertainment through your own pitiful death. And you will die. You’ll be dying today D-9410, I can promise you that.” He stepped back, smirking slightly. “Bring in subject D-9411.”

Jim was confused. _Was that unnecessarily long speech supposed to be offensive?_

A door on the balcony that Jim couldn’t see from his angle slid open and footsteps started moving down the stairs. Dr. Corner was rocking on his feet, the expression on his face positively feral. _Somebody needs to get this kid a hobby._

Jim chose to ignore him and watched curiously when he caught a flash of orange as the small party at last turned the corner. The guards removed the other D-class’ handcuffs and moved out of the way, standing back at the wall with their hands poised over their weapons.

He could see D-9411 clearly now.

It was Thomas. 

Thomas towered over everyone in the room, easily the tallest. His muscles practically burst from the too small jumpsuit and his dark skin glowed under the lights. The intensity in his brown, nearly black eyes as they fixed on Dr. Corner was so vicious that Jim got goosebumps. Even the doctor seemed uneasy, though he tried to hide it behind his own mask of viciousness. But while Corner’s was a mask, a persona he’d tried to convince himself was his real demeanour, Thomas’ was real. 

As if sensing his admiration, Thomas flicked his gaze towards him. Expressions rippled across his face, one after the other, too fast to read. 

Jim grinned. 

Thomas looked back to Corner.

“So happy you could join us D-9411.” Thomas ignored the doctor and smoothly strode to stand beside him, remaining silent. He thought about asking why they gave someone, even if it is Thomas, a higher number than him, but decided that was a question for another time.

Corner’s eyes darkened at Thomas’ silence but he seemed to let it go as he started to slowly pace in front of them. “Part of what makes the Foundation such a shining success story is its rigid organization. Our rules _define_ us, our regulations _protect_ us, our will _strengthens_ us. We would not be where we are today if not for the dedication to absolute perfection that our founders set as precedent. In order to uphold these standards, ruthlessness is necessary, nay _encouraged_ here.” Jim snorted and Corner cut him a glare. If he wasn’t sure that this man was a nerd before, there’s all the proof he needs. Who says _nay_ unironically?

“Do you have something you’d like to share with the class 9410?” Corner sneered.

“No, I’m okay. Thank you for asking,” Jim replied. How uncharacteristically thoughtful of the man.

Corner clenched his hands together, looking like he very much wanted to strangle Jim. “That is so lovely to hear 9410. I’m _so_ glad that you are _okay_. Is there anything else you’d like to add?” Corner bit out, his lip curling.

Jim hummed. “Well now that you mention it, I am feeling a bit peckish...”

Corner made a noise in his throat and took a threatening step forward. 

A guard cleared his throat behind them and Corner let out a frustrated shriek, glancing back at the guard, “I know! I know.” He took a deep breath and stepped away from Jim, a scowl now embedded into his face. “As I was saying, here at the Foundation we are constantly putting our lives at risk while working with terrifying monsters and entities beyond our control. The knowledge we gather—”

“Yeah that’s great and all but you literally just promised to kill me so it’s a little too late to get the propaganda going now. I mean come on, in communist Soviet Russia we would have already been executed.” Jim moved to cross his arms, but awkwardly put them back down when his handcuffs prevented it.

Corner stomped his foot. “WILL YOU SHUT UP! You think you’re so funny, don’t you? You wanna be a smart ass?” Corner sneered, “Fine. Open the gate. Let’s see how your _wittiness_ helps you there.”

Jim raised an eyebrow. “Hate us all you want, it still won’t change the fact that you’re a ginger.”

Corner put his hands in his lab coat pockets and without another look, stomped up the stairs to the second floor. The officers on the balcony nodded to the man and they disappeared behind a door and into what he assumed was the control room for this chamber.

Jim looked back and nudged Thomas excitedly. “He called me witty!” 

Thomas didn’t even crack a smile, just kept staring at the gate. “SCP-173 will snap your neck if no one is looking at it. Keep your eyes open and warn me before you blink,” he said, voice monotone.

Jim saluted him and resisted the urge to bounce on his feet. How exciting! Neck snapping: efficient and easy, but over too quickly. Not his personal style for murder but it can have its uses he supposed. 

“ _Focus_ Grognak.” Thomas grunted.

Dr. Corner’s voice came from the PA system, “Enter the chamber now or we will gladly shoot you. Many times. Over and over again until you’re human pieces of swiss cheese.” Corner sounded very excited at the prospect. “Enjoy your visit boys, I’m sure it’ll be a real... head turner.” He sounded so smug that Thomas broke his stoicism and curled his lip up. Even Jim kinda wanted to punch his smarmy face now.

“Come on.” Thomas grabbed Jim’s arm and they walked into the chamber side by side. The gate closed behind them ominously, as if knowing they would never see it open again.

* * *

The first thing Jim noticed was the abysmal decor. The room was completely barren and he initially thought the blood stains covering the floor was a carpet with how much there was. Ridiculous. Everybody knows the third rule of murder is to clean up your messes. This 173 guy must be nuts.

Speaking of, a brown and naked _thing_ stood staring at the wall. It had a bulbous head, stubby little legs, and arms that were tiny in proportion to the rest of its body, like a T-Rex’s. He couldn’t see its face, but he didn’t need to, there’s no recovering from a back profile like that.

Jim had to laugh. “Look at it! It has no ass, haha! Hey Corner,” he yelled to the ceiling. “This guy has no ass and he’s still out of your league!” 

“ _Grognak!_ _Shut up_ and _focus_. I have to blink,” Thomas snapped at him.

He put a hand over his mouth and muffled his giggling. “Alright! Blink then,” he managed to spit out before nearly doubling over again. Maybe this thing is dangerous, but how do they take it so _seriously?_ It looked like the unborn fetus of an incel and their cardboard cut-out anime wife.

Eventually he managed to completely calm down and they continued like that for a while, warning the other when they needed to blink, but otherwise remaining silent. How long exactly he wasn’t sure, but he was growing bored and a bored Jim is never recommended by health care practitioners. 

He sighed, resisting the urge to let his head fall backwards. “I’m bored… and I need to blink.”

“Clear.” Thomas didn’t acknowledge his boredom and he sighed again, dragging his foot along the floor and eyeing the blood stains in front of them.

Microphone feedback suddenly filled up the room and Dr. Corner’s gleeful voice pierced through the stillness. “Ah, did I hear someone say they’re bored? Shall we spice things up a bit? Let’s have a little fun while we’re here, yes?”

“Sure.” Jim shrugged. “I like fun, but in terms of spiciness Corner you’re like ketchup on white bread.”

“Goodbye D-9410 and D-9411.” The reverb from the microphone cut out, leaving silence once more.

“What a strange little man.” Jim frowned. “Why’d he ask if we wanted to have fun and then say goodbye?”

He got his answer two seconds later when three of the overhead lights went out, plunging them into semi darkness, leaving only 173 visible. He was standing shoulder to shoulder with Thomas, but he couldn't see an outline of the man anymore. The sound of increasingly harsh and laboured breaths the only evidence that the handsome man was still there. 

Jim glanced at the ceiling, ready to berate Corner for his shitty electricity plan when he caught the tail end of Corners high pitched laugh and the last light flickered for a moment. 

He felt Thomas tremoring beside him.

It flickered once more and then it went out too, plunging them into absolute darkness this time. It was complete blindness. He couldn’t see 173 anymore and he knew Thomas wouldn’t be able to either. 

Concrete scraping on stone sounded. 

THUMP. 

A crack echoed through the room.

The lights flicked back on.

Corner’s voice filled the chamber once more. “Should’ve thrown them in with 012, that’s something I would like to see, but I digress. Team Alpha 1-3, you’re clear to grab the bodies n—”

Jim burst out laughing, even more violently than when he’d first seen 173. He was laughing so hard he was _crying._ He fell to his knees, holding his stomach and repeatedly slapped his hand to the floor, trying to both catch his breath and blink back the tears of joy.

SCP-173 was face down on the floor, looking like it was planking. Part of the floor where its feet must have stepped had broken and created a pothole. Just a small inset in the floor about 2 meters away from where Jim and Thomas stood.

“He— it actu—,” he gasped for air. “It fucking tripped—” he broke into another peal of laughter. His stomach _hurt_ , but the pain only enhanced his joy. “Oh my Turg. Ten out of ten, bravo.” He tried to pull himself off the floor, wiping at his tears before using his hand to push himself up. When he got to his feet he couldn’t quite manage holding back another burst of giggles.

Wiping his face more thoroughly, he sniffed and his laughter finally subsided, tapering off into small exhales of amusement. He was still grinning from ear to ear, eyes bright and cheeks flushed when he spoke to Thomas again. “I have to blink.”

Thomas had grabbed his shoulder sometime during the commotion and his fingers dug into Jim’s skin, leaving behind crescent shaped marks from his nails.

Jim nudged him with his elbow. “Thomas?”

“Clear.” Thomas choked out. The hand on his shoulder spasmed.

“Yes... well.” Corner decided to announce his annoying presence once again. “Thank you for making us... _aware_ of certain structural failures that we will be sure to resolve in the future. A future that you will not be around to see, that is. Goodbye for real this time. Turn them off again.” The last sentence was barely audible as Corner turned away from the mic to face whoever he was ordering.

Thomas’ grip became bruising.

Jim kicked the blood puddle in front of them and splashed it over 173’s head.

The lights still didn’t go off.

He splashed some more, watching red slowly replace brown. Now it looked like a blood hat.

Jim sighed.

“The Foundation is _such_ a success because of its _rigid_ organization and I’m mad at the world cause I’m a ginger, euuh,” he mocked Corner. “Can you try killing us or something already? I’m _bored_.”

As if answering his prayers, the gate behind them started opening and he almost turned to look but Thomas squeezed his shoulder again. He shifted back into place and continued staring at the planking statue, his curiosity burning through him and practically begging him to spin around. Is someone else coming in? Or maybe they changed their minds? This facility does seem dead set on murdering them though, so more likely than that, some dumbass probably pressed the wrong button. 

“Blinking.” 

“Clear.” Jim said absentmindedly. He shook his head and it was only then that he realized Thomas was slowly leading them out of the gate, walking backwards and kicking his foot out behind them before taking a step to make sure they didn’t trip on anything.

“Remain— remain inside the chamber!” Corner sounded panicked. “Move another step and I’ll… Stop! I’m warning you!” Jim could hear people arguing with each other in the background of the audio feed.

Thomas ignored Corner and kept steadily guiding them out of the room, probably more willing to take his chances with humans than the concrete sculpture who was still getting closely acquainted with the floor. Jim supposed it didn’t really matter to _him_ either way, but Thomas was more likely to die from a butterfly than any of the officers doing their job right, so he placed his bets on leaving the chamber too. 

They crossed the threshold at last but neither of them relaxed. Death was still only one wrong move away. Jim expected to hear the guards giving them a warning to stop any second now. 

Except it never happened. In fact, the room was eerily quiet.

Quiet until Corner’s voice sounded again, “HEY, stay— stay there! Keep looking at 173! DO NOT take your eyes off 173 just—”

Corner was cut off by red lights flashing and the ominous blaring of sirens just as they reached the bottom of the stairs that led to the second floor. It sounded like one of those old air raid sirens from World War II that would warn people to take shelter from an incoming bomb.

A prerecorded voice started playing over the PA system, “Warning, aerial bombs approaching this sector’s location, all personnel are advised to enter the bomb shelter immediately.… Warning aerial bombs approaching this sector’s location, all personnel are advised to enter the bomb shelter immediately.…”

Well, that explained why it sounded like a bomb warning. There’s a _bomb_ coming? An actual honest to Turg bomb that requires an automated warning to be blared throughout the facility?

_Wicked_.

Jim and Thomas were almost halfway up the stairs at this point, still carefully walking backwards and testing each step when suddenly, the lights went completely out again.

They went out while SCP-173’s gate was still open. 

Concrete scraped against stone.

Thomas let go of his shoulder and grabbed his wrist in a death grip, practically carrying him up the last few steps. Jim looked down to watch his step but Thomas barked at him, “Keep looking!” 

Thomas yanked his keycard off Jim’s chest and fumbled with it for a few seconds, cursing to himself. With shaking fingers, he scanned the door open, hauled Jim through like a ragdoll, and scanned the door shut just as Jim blinked. 

SCP-173 peered through the small glass window in the door. Its face was two black holes splitting it down the middle like a failed vaginal surgery. It still had the blood Jim kicked on its head. 

Thomas jumped back, tripping over his own feet and slamming onto his tailbone “Jesus _fucking_ Christ.” Without another word he scrambled up and started speed walking backwards. Away from 173 who was still there just watching them.

Jim moved closer. He put his hand on the window and simpered, “Apart our bodies may be, but our souls remain connected forever, my love.” He stroked a finger down the glass and wiped away a nonexistent tear before turning away to skip after Thomas. “Wait up!” 

He opened his mouth to say what, he didn’t know, anything to fill the boring silence when the prerecorded voice he had already tuned out suddenly changed its script. “Warning, aerial bombs approaching this sector’s location, all personnel are advised to enter the bomb shelter immediately. Estimated time of Impact: 3 minutes.”

Thomas went rigid. “Shit. Sprint!” he ordered. Then he did just as he said. 

Jim stayed where he was.

Thomas turned his head back while still running. “We don’t have the _fucking time_ for you to be,” he waved his hands, “ _You_. I’m leaving!”

Jim grimaced. “I dunno know, staying here sounds pretty good to me, I really don’t feel like going for a run right now. Only psychopaths like running and while I am a psychopath, I still do not like running.” 

Thomas shook his head and went back to sprinting full speed, shoes slapping against the floor and echoing down the hall almost harmonizing with the apocalyptic sounding siren.

A few moments later and he couldn’t see Thomas’ back anymore.

“Whatever then! I’m staying here with my new SCP friend and you’re not invited anymore!” Jim called after him, feeling the beginnings of a frown form between his brows.

He sat crisscross applesauce on the floor. Did he do something to make people not take him seriously? Why does no one _listen_ to him? He’s been alive for, like, _eons_ and he probably came out of the womb sexy and rich. All his life he’s had “tough” guys who don’t take him seriously and try to sabotage him and his worshippers. He’s never once lost, and he doesn’t even do anything! He does whatever the fuck he wants and things always work out for him. People around him grow old, their bones weakening and their skin shrivelling like prunes, but he stays just as he is. The same. Never losing, never hurt, always alive. Always living. So why do people not _listen_?

Mid monologue he heard an odd noise, but didn't bother looking up. If SCP-173 tried to kill him it’d be signing its own death warrant. 

The noise was right beside him now and he watched from the corner of his eye.

Thomas sat beside him. 

Jim didn’t acknowledge him for a minute but eventually sighed and looked over. He was staring at the wall in front of them with a clenched jaw, tapping his foot on the floor rapidly. Is this what it's like to have a friend? Someone who retains their autonomy, but still trusts you with their life? It felt… weird. He sighed for what felt like the millionth time today. Why do people do things like this after he’s already gone on a huge angry rant at them in his head? 

For no reason other than he felt like it, he muttered, “Prick.”

Thomas’ lips twitched.

Then the floor _moved._

A BOOM so loud it felt like it was coming from inside his head bounced through his skull and his ears popped before everything went silent. He blinked, completely dazed and felt like his body was moving through molasses. He couldn’t see anything. A disorienting ringing noise became clearer and he tried to make sense of what was up and what was down, but his head felt too full to focus on anything. He oddly felt rather detached from reality. Like what was happening was a dream. 

But it wasn’t a dream.

The smell of burning ozone and sulfur reached his nostrils, leaving a gross, ashy taste in his mouth. He tried to open his eyes but whenever he did, they almost stung and he had to blink rapidly as he teared up.

The ringing seemed to be getting weaker at last and his head felt less like a sandpit. Squinting around he realized he was pressed against the floor. He saw a hand in front of him and almost flinched before he realized it was his own. Sound rushed back in and he heard distant agonized screaming and the crack and pop of a large fire. He tried to sit up and get a better look but a hand that actually wasn’t his pushed him back down. He stared at the fingers and attempted to follow the arm back to the owner, barely able to see through the tears and haziness.

Thomas.

Thomas had his shirt pulled over his mouth and nose and he gestured at Jim to do the same.

He nodded and pulled the undershirt of the guard uniform up to just under his eyes even though the smoke and ash that permeated the air left a curious bubble around his head. When he glanced back at Thomas, he saw him staring down the hall in the direction of where the bomb had hit.

A bit of the haziness had cleared up and he could see a wall of concrete and rubble from where the floor above them had collapsed. They were just meters away from it. ‘It’ being certain death. If anyone was under that particular part of the hall, they’d be nothing more than liquid now. Where they were sitting though… where they were sitting was _perfectly_ intact. Other than losing his balance a bit from the shockwave, Jim’s worst injury was… nothing. If Thomas had kept running and hadn’t decided to turn back and stick with Jim on the other hand…

They looked at each other.

Thomas spoke first. “I knew it.” He stared wide eyed at Jim.

Jim stared back at him incredulously. “You knew there was going to be a bombing and you didn’t say anything?” He was actually surprised. He didn’t expect Thomas to be _that_ ruthless.

“No, that’s not what I—” Thomas cut himself off and his face dropped with exasperation when he remembered who he was talking to. Jim couldn’t say he was bothered by it, he was used to people’s faces dropping when they talked to him. 

“This is why we get along so well Thomas,” Jim said, pausing to clear his throat and wipe some of the ash off his chest. “We’re both ruthless mass murderers with no compunctions about brutally slaughtering men, women, children, and Mormons.”

Thomas looked heavenwards.

“And we both have brown eyes.” 

Thomas ignored him and peeled himself off the floor, stumbling a bit. He started walking to a door that would presumably take them away from both the fiery rubble and SCP-173, who was still loose out there somewhere, living its best life snapping necks.

“Oh, and we’re also both communists,” Jim added, trailing behind him idly.

“I’m _not_ a communist!” Thomas bit out, jerking back to face him. He barely reached Thomas’ chin, so he was forced to tilt his neck back in order to stare imperiously into his eyes.

“If both of us weren’t communists then we wouldn’t have been able to equally share the explosion. If only one of us was a communist then we would have died!”

Thomas clenched his fists together, let out a deep breath, and with a forced calm, scanned his keycard to the door and strode through. The sign beside it read 'BLOCK A' and then an arrow pointing forward, so Jim assumed it would take them back to the main hub of activity. 

From what he had seen while walking through the halls, Block A was the main hub of human activity on every floor, Block B was for object SCPs and Block C usually had more humanoid SCPs. The floor they were on was right beneath the ground floor and was the “human” floor, where guards and scientists congregated after a long day at the cafeteria or the barracks if they were too tired to go home. He hadn’t been to a lower floor yet, but he could guess that the deeper you go, the more likely you are to die. SCP-173 must not be that dangerous if they have it up here, he thought, although it is a good 15 minute walk through the tunnel.

Speaking of that tunnel, the door Thomas opened had led them straight there. How curious that the explosion left the path to safety completely untouched and Jim just so happened to be barely 5 meters away from it the whole time. 

Curious indeed. 

He smiled and if it was particularly wicked, well... _good_. Wickedness was his brand after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes taken from Kevin's videos:
> 
> "Random people can point their guns at him, but no one wakes him up from his beauty sleep, that's where he draws the line" is from "GTA V RP but I am a monster." The actual quote is "I get on firetrucks with random people, but I don't tell them my name, that's where I draw the line."
> 
> "I mean come on, in communist Soviet Russia we would have already been executed" is from his video "GTA V RP but I am a communist"
> 
> "If both of us weren't communists then we wouldn't have been able to equally share the explosion. If only one of us was a communist then we would have died!" is also from "GTA V RP but I am a communist" and the actual quote is "Good thing we'll all equally share the landing. If one of us got that landing we could have died."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments! I love hearing your thoughts on the story, they seriously make my day :)

“Why did you come back?” 

Jim had been walking down the tunnel that led back to the main site of the facility with Thomas for two minutes before he couldn’t take the silence anymore.

“Why’d you not keep running down the hall?”

Thomas glanced at him with a glower but didn’t answer. 

“How old are you? Do you have a family? Why’d you get a job here? No offence but this place kinda sucks.”

“Do you ever stop fucking talking?” Thomas grit out.

“Do you ever stop _not_ talking?” Jim asked. Thomas clenched his jaw in response which he chose to take as encouragement. “How come they made you a D-class?”

“ _Because of you! It’s_ all _because of you!_ ” Thomas whirled on him, throwing his hands up to shove him into the wall only to jerk them back as if he was stung. “You ruined _everything_ and here you are, acting like nothing even _fucking_ happened! But I can’t even be mad at you because it's not an act is it? You truly _don’t_ understand what it's like to have— to be normal! And then the Foundation goes and blames _me_ for the massacre. _Me!_ As if I killed everyone! And they don’t _listen!_ Eight fucking years of dedicating my life to this place and for what? _For what?_ Just to get my neck snapped? They _know_ I’m terrified of—” he cut himself off, blowing out a breath. “ _Fuck_ this place and _fuck_ them.”

Jim was careful to keep his face neutral in order to not annoy him further, but inside he was giddy with glee. This was the longest Thomas had ever spoken to him and it was filled with delightful hatred. Rating people’s worth by their attractiveness had only failed him like a couple million times— which isn’t really _that_ much— so he knew he was right when he first saw Thomas’ handsome face and thought he was special.

“I completely agree!” Jim exclaimed.

Thomas paused. “You do?”

“Yes, Vive la Révolution! I’m always down to stomp some villages.” Jim thought for a few seconds. "And by your standards I’m not normal, I have serious issues.”

Thomas blinked. “That’s... surprisingly self-aware of you.”

“Perfect! So now that we’re on the same page about burning this place to the ground and letting all the SCPs loose into the world to murder and horrifically maim to their hearts content—”

“That's _not_ what I said.”

“Tell me why you came back.”

Thomas started walking again. Sirens still blared behind them, now accompanied by the occasional rumble as more of the building collapsed on itself. Glancing back, he could see nothing but shadows. It’s a good thing he’s not claustrophobic.

“Shit happens _around_ you Grognak, but never _to_ you. And looking back on it, it’s obvious that every time dozens of people die and everything goes to shit, it’s after someone tries to hurt you. I just remembered that you were whatever you are and prayed to God that I was with you in the eye of the storm and not getting torn up outside it.” Thomas avoided his eyes. “That’s why I came back. It doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“Comrades,” Jim corrected automatically. Thomas was nowhere near the first person to have some idea of what Jim can do and what he is, but he still found himself proud that Thomas figured it out with no help and whilst in the middle of nearly dying three times. 

“You know, people have compared me to a hurricane in the past,” Jim acknowledged.

Thomas grimaced and nodded.

“In bed.”

Thomas heaved a deep sigh and they left it at that.

* * *

When they finally reached Block A, it was to mass panicking. Nobody even noticed that a D-class and a guard were walking side by side with soot and blood covering their faces. 

People were running in every direction, every corner they turned was an ordeal to get through the crowd of bodies that all thought _their_ task was the priority in the wake of the bomb. The siren was significantly louder now that they were out of the tunnel but it was still overpowered by hordes of panicked talking and yelling.

Someone almost banged into Jim only to get an elbow to the face at the last second by none other than Thomas himself. The man dropped to the ground, blood gushing from their nose. 

“Bloody feck!” Jim stared at Thomas. “At least give a little warning before you start assaulting people out of the blue, it’s only polite!” 

Thomas grimaced at the blood splattering his elbow. “Yeah, well, God forbid someone knock you over and _this_ building blows up. I’m not taking any chances. Now come on, we’re gonna need a car if we want any hope of getting the fuck out of here.” Thomas stepped in front of Jim and used his body to boulder straight through the crowd like a bowling ball. 

Jim stayed nearly glued to his back and stuck his foot out occasionally to trip anyone wearing a lab coat. Just some mostly harmless fun. If they got trampled and broke a couple bones then he wouldn’t be around to see it.

Thomas led him down what he was now convinced was a deliberately confusing labyrinth of hallways and he once again lost track of how many corners they turned. Just when he was going to start a riot in protest of all the walking, Thomas pulled him into a quieter corridor where he could actually inhale without brushing his chest against someone. 

“They usually keep some spare keys for the military jeeps in an office here.” Thomas quickly popped into a door semi hidden by an outcropping of the wall. “Okay, I got it let’s go.” He jiggled the key and then clenched it between his fist.

“You know I could have hotwired the car, we just wasted a ton of time,” Jim said as they made their way to find an elevator.

Thomas groaned. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“You didn’t ask if I could hotwire a car!”

“Why would that be a question I would know to ask?!” Thomas exclaimed. “What type of civilian randomly knows how to hotwire a car?!”

“I am _not_ an alien.” Jim scowled.

“What? I said civilian not—”

“Just because you said I’m a civil alien doesn’t make it any less offensive.” 

Thomas sighed as the elevator came into view. “Never mind, let’s just hurry up and get to the hangar.”

Jim sprinted forward so he would be the one to get to press the elevator button and almost ran into the officer that stepped in front of him. “I saw the button first so I get dibs on pressing it, sorry not sorry,” Jim told the stranger.

“There you are,” the man spoke with cruel glee. “Did you know you’ve been tagged as KOS by Corner? Got quite a price on your head. They didn’t say you have to die quickly though, so let’s take this nice and slow, shall we?” He raised his gun.

“NO!” Thomas dove forward.

* * *

INCIDENT REPORT: 9410-A-[ **██** ]

On **████/████** after the misfire and resulting unintentional bombing in Block [ **█** ], SCP-9410 (Subject D-9410 at the time) was threatened by a guard with promises of a slow death. Before the guard could raise his gun to incapacitate SCP-9410, his fingers slipped and he shot himself in the foot. When he fell to the ground in pain, a single quarter rolled out of his pocket and down the hall. The quarter spun away for an extremely unlikely amount of time until it reached the door to the control panel room for several containment floors. 

At the exact moment it met the door, [REDACTED] opened it to leave. It rolled inside and technical researcher David Rosen who had remained inside, heard the clink of it settling on the floor. Rosen turned around and stood up to grab the coin, but tripped on the end of his lab coat and hit his head on the corner of a desk. Bleeding and disoriented, Rosen used the Master Control lever of the facility’s door operations to try and help himself off the floor, pulling it to OFF before passing out. 

An alarm blared through the facility and red warning lights turned on, an announcement indicated that the manual and automatic control of all doors had been frozen. Several containment doors had all been opened at that precise moment and then would not close regardless of staff personnel’s efforts. As a result, SCP-035, SCP-049, and SCP-096 breached containment. 

Ten of the guards for SCP-096 were shocked at the announcement and panicked, looking at the cameras in SCP-096’s chamber. They all looked directly at its face and were subsequently killed by SCP-096. 

SCP-049 and SCP-035 rampaged through the facility as a result of most security personnel being locked behind doors and vulnerable researchers being stuck with their doors open.

The door to the control room itself had also been frozen and as such, it was impossible for [REDACTED] to get back in. The doors remained nonfunctional for a total of 5 hours until Rosen regained consciousness. In their release, SCP-035 killed [ **█** ] staff personnel, SCP-049 killed [ **█** ] staff personnel and [ **█** ] D-classes, and [ **█** ] people looked directly into SCP-096’s face. Rosen suffered a severe concussion.

SCP-9410 was found [REDACTED] hours after the initial incident. During the containment breach, SCP-9410 is believed to have caused the complete disappearance of all physical files/reports/statements regarding top secret Foundation secrets kept in a location known only to the Administrator. It is unknown where this location is. It is unknown how it managed to find this location and secure all of these documents. It is unknown whether these documents were hidden or destroyed somehow. Whether or not SCP-9410 may have inflicted further damage to the facility is also currently unknown. 

* * *

Thomas was mid-lunge when the shot rang through the corridor. The man howled, dropping to his knees to hold his now holey foot. Jim heard a curious ringing sound, almost like a coin dropping, but before he could think on it, Thomas was lunging back towards him and hauling both of them into the elevator. 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.” Thomas pulled at his hair and paced back and forth in the elevator.

Jim pressed the button to the ground floor. “Relax, I promise you can press the button next time.”

“How can it get _worse_ from here? Nukes? The black _fucking_ plague? We’re so fucked. Fuck. _Fuck_!” Thomas kept muttering to himself, looking very close to a mental breakdown.

The elevator dinged and this time Jim had to haul Thomas forward. He pulled him out and gasped. He could see the sky! The ground floor of the facility was as big as a mall and so _bright_. The roof was completely made of glass, allowing sunlight to pierce through every corner and Jim had to squint his eyes after being in the dark for so long. 

The elevator they came out of was in a rectangular block that stretched to the ceiling in the middle of the cavernous room. As far as he could see, the perimeter of the building was composed of what looked like regular business offices. He could see the entrance door to his left where staff personnel were consistently walking in and out of a large open walkway. To his immediate right were more elevators along the wall, but the very back of the room was too far away to see clearly. Jim pulled a still muttering Thomas another step forward, but he had no idea where to go.

They really didn’t have time for this.

Jim rubbed his hands together and spat on them before pulling back and slapping Thomas as hard as he could. “Pull yourself together comrade! I can’t do this if we don’t equally share the risk of escaping a maximum security facility!”

Thomas blinked, pupils widening as a red mark started to form on his cheek. Jim watched the remaining crumbs of Thomas’ sanity slowly pull themselves back into place until he looked less like he belonged in the psych ward and more like his usual scowly self. “I’m not a communist. And seriously, that’s not how communism works!”

“Your sad denial of the truth is not our priority right now, where do we go?”

Thomas dragged a hand across his face and after glancing back and forth, started walking away from the main entrance. His bright orange jumpsuit was basically a flashing billboard saying _look at me, I’m not supposed to be here._

Thomas nudged Jim and pointed out an emergency exit along the wall. They made a beeline for it, disregarding any semblance of stealth. Now right in the open, they speed-walked as fast as possible, not stopping to look behind when someone called out behind them. 

Jim pushed the door open just as a different warning siren blared through the facility, overlapping the still playing bomb siren. He froze. “For fecks sake, what now?”

Thomas looked strangely relieved. “Thank god, it’s not nuclear war.”

“What is it? Is it because we opened the door? Like those emergency exits in Ikea that you aren’t supposed to open even though they clearly say exit on them?” He paused halfway in the facility and halfway outside.

“No, it means there’s been multiple containment breaches. This is probably the fallout from that idiot that tried to shoot you. Let’s go.” Thomas shouldered his way past him and started jogging on the tarmac.

“Aw, are you upset that he tried to kill me? I knew you liked me, you’re my best comrade Thomas.” Jim caught up to the man easily and grinned.

“I’m not your comrade. I’m not a communist.”

“That’s not a very good comeback, I think you’re becoming a little bit of a communist now are you? Whose communism is showing, yours is,” Jim cooed.

“No, I’m not a—”

“Here comes the communist rocket ship.” He imitated a plane noise. “Open your mouth for the communism... mmm tastes good!”

“If you weren’t an eldritch abomination of unfathomable power I would have murdered you dozens of times by now.”

“Thomas, don’t hit on me this isn’t the time.”

The large hangar was steadily becoming closer and Thomas ignored him to jog ahead and scan his keycard. The massive doors slowly start to peel back with a groaning creak. 

Except Thomas hadn’t reached the card reader yet. 

Someone was opening it from the inside.

“ _Shit_.” Thomas skidded to halt and ran back to him, yanking his arm and sprinting back to where they came from. “We’re still marked as KOS. _Fuck_.”

Jim guessed the hangar door finally opened wide enough because shouting erupted behind them and Thomas swore under his breath again. Engines revved and then tires squealed on pavement as the cars they wanted to steal were now being used against them. Neither of them dared look back and risk slowing themselves down. 

Panting, they arrived back at the emergency exit door and threw themselves towards it.

It didn’t have a handle to get back in.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Thomas slammed his hand into the door. Jim grabbed his arm and pushed him to start running towards the back of the facility where the building met a dense forest. They’d only taken five steps when two military jeeps appeared 100 meters away and parallel to the building. The drivers slammed on the gas and their tires burned on the asphalt. Seemed like their plan was to turn them into human pancakes. 

“Oh, I know! Thomas, they’re going to run us over now!” Jim pointed out excitedly.

Thomas wearily knelt down, holding his head in his arms. “Wow, are they really?” he asked dully. 

Jim nodded and grinned. “Yup! Don’t worry though, you probably won’t die. I’ve got this.”

Thomas made an odd sound in the back of his throat. “Probably?” he choked. “Oh God, here we go again.”

Jim felt his smile peel off his face and his eyes narrow. The bloodthirst pumped through his veins and he could feel how cool and sexy he probably looked right now. Stepping forward, he raised his arm and gave them the finger. 

The jeeps sped up, only 15 meters away now.

He saw a large shape in his peripheral vision and knew he couldn’t look away even if he wanted to.

The large shape coalesced into a crow and Jim watched as it smashed into the first driver’s windshield, exploding into a horrifically thrilling sight of feathers and guts. The driver yelped and swerved to his left, accidentally speeding up in his panic. The momentum coupled with the sudden sharp turn lifted it off its two right wheels and straight into a large rock that was conveniently shaped very much like a ramp. It went airborne and Jim watched it fly over his head in cruel glee. 

It crumpled like a smashed beer can against the facility wall. Jim cackled.

The second jeep’s driver panicked and spun the wheel to avoid the other’s mistake, but lost control of the vehicle and sent itself flipping over, violently crunching on the ground over and over again. Jim saw blood and brain matter on the pavement and he wished he had his camera. 

The commotion caught the attention of more security personnel and they started running in their direction, calling out and waving at them to stop. 

Thomas hopped up from his crouched position. With nothing more than curious whining noise from the back of his throat he grabbed Jim’s arm again and they were off, sprinting towards the back of the facility again. Thomas jumped over the splattered brains but Jim made sure his feet were lined up to step on it. _Try running me over again asshole._

Panting, they turned the corner and skidded to a halt. 

More Foundation officers were standing at the back entrance, barking orders at 50 or so guards. “SCP-035 moved up a level, 15 of you will get your asses in there and—” The officer cut themselves off and did a double take in their direction. The rest of the guards followed suit.

One man in a guard uniform and another in a D-class jumpsuit both covered in soot, grime, and blood running away from screaming people telling them to stop. Totally normal and not suspicious at all.

“Hey, aren’t those the KOS D-classes?!” One of the guards shouted, pointing at them. The group started to raise their guns.

Thomas nearly sobbed, “Not again.”

“Snitches get stitches.” Jim sneered and got ready to give more people the middle finger when Thomas hauled him away towards the forest. They started running.

Small branches from trees and large bushes sliced at Thomas and blood welled all over his face and arms. Jim followed closely behind but sharp branches mysteriously fell limp or broke off every time they neared him. Loud crunching and snapping of twigs followed them as their chasers scrambled to catch up to them. A couple times he heard shots fire but it was never him or Thomas who screamed. 

Jim’s lungs were burning and he was moving from being vaguely annoyed to supremely annoyed that Thomas didn’t let the guards get blown up or something and instead made them run around like a couple of headless chickens.

 _Wait_.

Very randomly in the midst of their impromptu frolic through the wilderness, Jim felt the sudden urge to slap the massive tree coming up in his path. A _very_ strong urge. 

With mild amusement, he indulged the whim because that’s what a normal person would do while being chased. He paused beside it and swung his arm back to give it a good _whap_ , pleased with the acoustics of the bark. Thomas heard the loud, almost bongo-like noise and spun around, eye’s panicked. He caught Jim just as he was removing his hand from the bark.

“Did you just hit a fucking tree?” Thomas guffawed.

Jim opened his mouth to respond when the tree made a whirring noise and a section of the bark sunk into itself and slid away, creating a doorway to a ladder leading down. 

“This makes sense to me,” Jim proclaimed and then hurried towards the tree door. 

Thomas followed close behind. “What about this makes sense? What the fuck Grognak.” Thomas wiped his sleeve over the sweat permeating his forehead. “How did you randomly smack a tree in the middle of a high-speed chase and have it turn out to be a secret passageway?”

Jim started down the ladder. “The almighty Turg has never let me down in a moment of need,” he said simply. “Don’t forget to give ol’ Bertha here a good smack to close the door again, we don’t want any of the capitalist pigs getting in.”

Thomas hesitated for a second but the sound of crunching leaves and shouting was growing closer so he winded his arm back and slammed it into the wood. The tree door whirled shut again.

“How do you know its name is Bertha?” Thomas asked, looking very tired at the fact that a tree responded to getting spanked.

“How do you know its name isn’t Bertha?” Jim shot back.

“That’s not— that’s not how naming things works.” Thomas cut him a dry look but he was too busy looking at their… tree house? It’s basically a tree house. A _really_ high-tech tree house.

They stood in a relatively large, circular-shaped room. The walls and ceiling were made from quality steel plating, replacing what was surely dirt at one point. There was a decent sized kitchen, couches with television screens and several computer monitors were scattered across the room. From where they stood he could also see an open door leading to a massive pantry filled to the brim with non-perishables. They were in a luxurious underground bunker. An underground tree bunker.

“Does it ever stop getting weirder?” Thomas massaged his temples.

Jim on the other hand had already opened a can of beans and sat down in front of one of the computers. “What’s weird?”

Thomas looked at the beans and then at the lack of a can opener anywhere in the room and shook his head. “What’s weird?! What are we gonna do?” He started listing off his fingers. “We’re trapped here with highly trained military personnel all gunning for our heads right now, there are multiple SCP’s loose in the facility, and half of the facility was probably just blown up from a _bomb_.” Thomas seemed really stuck on the whole bomb thing for some reason. “Oh, and how could I forget, _we’re in a fucking tree_.”

“Her _name_ is Bertha and you will refer to her as such.” Jim pointed his bean can threateningly at Thomas.

“Okay fine, we’re in Bertha!” Thomas threw his hands up. “Because that’s what is important right now. What are we going to do about being stuck inside Bertha?”

Jim kicked his legs up on the table and leaned back. “I have a plan, it’s gonna be hard and it’s gonna take a lot out of both of us. We may never be the same after it, but in times of need, extremes are necessary. Don’t be afraid, we may only lose a few limbs and our sanity. Here’s how it's gonna go—” He paused to pour the last of the beans into his mouth and then turned to the computer monitor, tapping away with concentration.

Thomas sat down and waited for the grand plan.

Ten minutes went by before he lost his patience. “Grognak, I know you’re planning this strategy all out but can you tell me what you've got so far?” Thomas froze. “Wait… Are you playing games?”

“Huh?” Jim wheeled away from the monitor. “Yeah, I found this cool website called Girls Go Games dot com.”

“Is that what you were doing this whole time?” Thomas stood up and clenched his fists.

Jim made a face. “No, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Okay, so what’s the—”

“I was also playing on Cool Math Games, but I’m not very good at math. Does that mean I’m not cool?”

Thomas groaned and ripped some of his hair out before stalking to the pantry and pulling out pasta and pasta sauce. He started setting up the kitchen, boiling the water and getting the strainer out. 

Jim was immensely confused but enticed by the prospect of more food, he got up and sat on one of the barstools next to the kitchen’s island. “So anyway before you interrupted me I was gonna tell you the plan. Here’s what we’re gonna do. You’ll stay here, I’ll stick a GoPro on my forehead, and then I’ll walk through the facility.” He leaned back and spread his arms out. “Need I say more?”

Thomas kept stirring the pasta. “No, we can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you were the catalyst for a bomb being dropped basically right on us. An honest to God bomb. If you go walking through a labyrinth of people trying to shoot you and monsters who _also_ want to kill you, you’d probably end the world somehow.” Thomas shook his head. “Now that I think about it, you and SCP-682 would be best pals.”

“Who’s 682?”

“That’s not important,” Thomas replied. “My point is, you being anywhere deadly is a recipe for disaster. No, just no.”

Jim shrugged, unbothered. He didn’t really care if he destroyed the universe, this might not even be his universe for all he knew, but he wasn’t _desperate_ to destroy it either. Maybe in another couple million years when he’s bored or something.

Thomas cleared his throat. “And I’m almost scared to ask this, but why the GoPro?”

“So I can vlog it, post it on YouTube and send it to all the major news sites around the world,” Jim answered easily.

Thomas dropped the wooden spoon he was holding and stared at him in horror. “ _Grognak!_ You _can’t_ do that! You can’t do that ever!”

“Why not? The first step to dismantling a secret organization hellbent on keeping itself secret is to make it not be a secret. I can already see the tweets about how this place kills people in their little science tests. You do know that people are justifiably mad about rats and bunnies being used for experiments right? I wonder what they’ll say for humans.” Jim side-eyed Thomas.

Thomas’ laugh was almost cruel. “You are so not the one to be talking about ethics, Grognak. You personally murder human beings for fun. You wore an actual intestine as a necklace and didn’t even _blink_.” Jim did do that, but it’s not like it was his fault! 049 did the butchering; he just enjoyed the pretty necklace while he had it. 

“I murder people, but never animals. I have standards.” Jim scrunched up his face. “And I’m not everyone. I guarantee the majority of people are gonna see a problem with using people as test subjects.”

“We hide this from everyone to _protect_ them. If they knew half the shit that exists…” Thomas swallowed. “People can’t find out, it would be chaos.”

“Hmm,” Jim leaned forward. “You still refer to yourself and them as a we. Whose side are you on _Tom_?” It’s not like Jim was bothered by the slip or anything… okay, maybe a little bothered.

The dark look in Thomas’ eyes retreated and he looked away. “I’m not on their side anymore, but Grognak, we can’t reveal this to the world. I know you don’t care but _I_ do, so can we not talk about this anymore?” Thomas drained the water from the pasta and got out two plates. “You going on your little murder walk isn’t gonna work. What else?”

Jim gave him a look but allowed the change in subject. He would work on it but for now he trusted Thomas about as much as he could. “Then let’s just chill here until they lose interest in us. We have enough food to last us months. Not to mention enough entertainment,” he motioned to the flatscreens. “Security won’t be as tight once they start to forget and then we can peace out.”

“You want me to endure months of… of _you?”_ Thomas looked horrified.

“I know, it’s hard to believe how lucky you are. Rest assured, you will have lots of time to savour it.” Jim took his plate and started stuffing his mouth. If Thomas said anything else he didn’t listen, too engrossed in the surprisingly good dinner.

* * *

After the pasta and another can of beans where Thomas may or may not have been trying to talk to him, they showered, pulled out two of the couches into beds, and turned the lights off.

Jim flopped onto his right side, shifting the blankets up to his neck and staring into space. When that didn’t work he flipped to his other side, smacking the pillow a bit and closing his eyes.

Nothing. Jim sighed and turned onto his back, making sure to flip his pillow to the cool side. Still nothing. He turned his head towards Thomas in the darkness. “Hey Thomas—”

“No.” Thomas cut him off.

“I didn’t even say anything!” 

Thomas shifted so he gave Jim his back. “I don’t care. This is sleeping time, we’re sleeping. End of story. Bye-bye. See you later.”

“Was that a Shrek reference?” Jim asked. He paused but when no noise from Thomas came he continued, “Come on, this is where we bond over our shared hatred of the world! I mean, can you believe it’s our first sleepover? It feels like we’ve been comrades forever already.”

“You’re truly insufferable. I’m two seconds away from suffocating you with your own pillow,” Thomas threatened.

“Breath play, huh? Didn’t know you’re into that but okay. I guess we can t—”

Thomas abruptly sat up, whipping his head towards Jim. “Grognak.” he bit out sharply. “Shut. Up.”

Jim raised his hands defensively. “All right, fine, whatever. Be like that then, see if I care.” Thomas settled himself back down. “It’s not like I was just trying to be friendly or anything. No one ever appreciates me.” Jim grumbled to himself some more but did as Thomas said and curled into himself, closing his eyes once again. Letting out a deep sigh, he allowed himself to fall into nothingness and time at last drifted away from him in its eternal march. 

* * *

Unbeknownst to them both, the cameras littered throughout the facility and its surrounding area was painting a very interesting picture to frustrated researchers looking for answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote from Kevin's video:
> 
> “That’s not a very good comeback, I think you’re becoming a little bit of a communist now are you? Whose communism is showing, yours is.” and “Here comes the communist rocket ship.” He imitated a plane noise. “Open your mouth for the communism... mmm tastes good!” - Is from GTA V but I am a communist


	6. Chapter 6

Jim snapped awake, his senses immediately sharpening. He squinted around the dark room and met Thomas’ hardened gaze.

Thomas had heard something as well. 

Thomas raised a finger to his lips and slipped out of bed, walking over to the ladder and straining his ears. After a few moments his eyes widened and he snapped them back to Jim. He pointed his finger up and mouthed, _"They’re here._ ”

Jim yawned and nodded, resigned to the new development and wanting it to be over already. To be completely honest, he hadn’t expected his plan of ‘waiting for the Foundation to lose interest’ to actually work. As much as it would have been a blast hanging out with Thomas in Bertha’s tightly sealed, probably soundproof bunker for a couple months, he was just too unforgettable for it to ever work. Stupid as these people were, they weren’t _that_ stupid.

Yawning once more, he cracked all his knuckles in a row and carefully got out of bed to set it back up as a couch. Thomas did the same and came to sit beside him, being careful to not let any part of him so much as brush up against Jim in the process. Then they waited.

THUMP. 

Jim and Thomas glanced at each other. 

Sounds like the intruders had figured out how to open Bertha. He nudged Thomas. “See?” he whispered. “Hitting trees is an American pastime; the logical and normal thing to do.”

Thomas glowered at him. “That is not an American pastime. Baseball is America’s pastime, not hitting trees. That’s a you thing, not an us thing,” he whispered back sharply.

How did he…? “How did you know I’m not American?”

Thomas stared at him like he just pulled a rabbit out of his hair or something. Jim patted his head just to make sure. “What do you-” Thomas blew out a frustrated breath. Although, in an effort to stay quiet it was really more of a small nose exhale than anything else. “You have an Irish accent, Grognak.”

Jim waited a few moments but Thomas didn’t elaborate. “So?”

_“So?”_ Thomas held his face in his hands for a moment. When he spoke again it was drawn out and slightly muffled from through his fingers. “So, if you have an Irish accent, that means you’re Irish.”

Jim supposed that made sense. “Okay, so I’m Irish because I have an Irish accent,” he summarized, still whispering. “But how are you also Irish when you have an American accent?”

Thomas yanked his head from his hands. “I’m American, Grognak!” he burst out. “I have an American accent because I’m American!”

“Hello?” A timid voice called down from Bertha’s head. Thomas immediately retreated back into himself and whipped his head towards the entrance. Both of them went silent again.

“Hello?” they called again. A pause in which only silence filled the air. “I’m sure they’re still down there, I swore I heard something.” The same voice sounded again, but as correct as the statement was, they didn’t sound too happy about it. From its almost muted resonance, Jim could tell they hadn’t yet stepped into Bertha.

“You go first.”

“Fuck off there’s no way—”

“Don’t look at me, I don’t get paid enough as it is!”

“Why do we have to do this anyway, this is what the Intelligence Agency does for fucks sake! Or even the Nine Tailed Fox, I’m just a guard!”

“They’re not on site right now, dumbass—”

“None of you will.” This voice sounded wearied and wasn’t whispering. They paused as if gathering their courage and after a few moments of stilted silence they called down the hole cautiously, “Um hello? Mr. Jim and Mr. Knox? Is it alright if we come down? There’s four of us including myself. We— we’re not going to hurt you, I promise. My name is Dr. Alex Smokes. I promise we’re, uh, friendly.”

Thomas crossed his arms. Jim looked at his nails. They were impeccable as always.

After about a minute of complete silence, Smokes spoke up again. “Okay. Um, okay. We’re gonna head down and see if we can talk with you okay? None of us have any weapons, so uh— yeah. I’m gonna step down the ladder now…” Cue a chorus of shuffling noises as if they were literally dragging their feet and then the sound of boots hitting the metal ladder rungs leading deeper into Bertha. Multiple boots actually. Seems like the whole squad was coming for the party.

Another minute passed and all shuffling noises stopped, but he couldn’t see them yet. They were hesitating rounding the corner and coming into sight. Jim almost snorted.

He heard someone take a deep breath and then a carefully placed footsteps sounded just as a boot, then a knee, a torso and an arm, and finally a face came into view. 

Jim waited until the others came into view and quickly counted four. They hadn’t been lying in that regard. With his eyes already long accustomed to the dark, he could easily see the man, who he guessed to be Dr. Smokes, standing at the front of the line. He was tanned and looked to be in his mid-forties. The three others behind were far younger and looked like they were desperately trying to pretend they weren’t scared shitless. Also, seemingly true to his word, Jim couldn’t see any weapons on them, but that didn’t really say much they could be concealed for all he knew. Plus, Jim had killed before with a pencil. A fucking _pencil_. Whether or not someone has a gun really didn’t determine their level of danger.

Still, neither Jim nor Thomas moved and with the blackness of the dark room covering them, they were invisible to their intruders. 

Smokes squinted in the eerie gloom and panned the flashlight around the room with shaking hands. The silence was almost suffocating; the only noise being the elevated breathing from the guards and a distant hum from Bertha’s ventilation system.

When the flashlight finally landed on their positions, sitting on the couch and watching, Jim would never forget the look on their faces. 

All four of them violently flinched back, eyes nearly popping out of their skulls and something like mutilated horror rippling across their features. One of them started screaming and another tripped over their own feet, falling with a clang on the steel floor. Smokes dropped the flashlight and hit himself in the face by accident, knocking his glasses off. What followed was ten panicked seconds of him feeling the ground for them, trying to avoid the pile of guards surrounding him kicking out in fear. Smokes got nailed in the face at least three times before he was able to find his cracked glasses, shove them onto his face and pick up the flashlight to point it at them again.

Jim watched the disaster with hardly even a blink.

Thomas fidgeted and his face screwed up as if he’d just eaten something sour. He didn’t glance over and Jim got the impression that he must be embarrassed to once have worked with these people. Or maybe Jim was just projecting because he would be _mortified_ to call these people his colleagues. 

Smokes beamed the flashlight first onto Thomas and then to Jim, the expression of terror still burnt into his face. The light blinded Jim and he had to force himself not to blink. While maintaining eye contact, Jim gestured his head slightly, “The light switch is to your right,” he said mildly, sounding all the while like he was commenting on the weather or the latest news broadcast. 

None of them moved. Jim’s eyebrows flew up. “Well?” he said.

That got them moving and they scrambled to their feet, rushing to the wall and feeling around for the switch. Their panic was practically visible when they couldn’t find it and he was sure the one who’d fallen would soon need a paper bag.

“Did I say to your right? I meant to your left, my apologies,” he corrected, his tone a poor imitation of real concern and his smile anything but apologetic.

They threw themselves to the other side of the room like a bunch of kittens in a room with a laser pointer. 

At long last, the lights flicked on and their uninvited guests whipped around to stare at them fearfully, finally getting a clear glimpse of Jim and Thomas from their position still seated on the couch. Their terror was almost shocking to Jim. The whole time he’d been here, everybody had looked at him like he was a stinking bin of rubbish… well, except for Leo that is. But now… now they were scared. 

Now they were listening.

Dr. Smokes slowly set the flashlight down, managing to do so without taking his eyes off Jim, and then raised his hands in the universal symbol of surrender. The doctor swallowed before speaking and Jim watched his throat bob. “We’re not here to hurt you.”

That was almost laughable. “You haven’t been paying attention if you think you could hurt me.” Jim tilted his head.

“Yes— Yes I suppose you’re right.” Smokes laughed nervously, looking very stressed at the reminder.

“Well,” Jim prompted. “What is it you want then?”

Smokes fidgeted with the buttons on his shirt. “If I may speak frankly, almost everyone at this facility is now terrified of you,” He paused to see Jim’s reaction. There was none, so he awkwardly continued, “And uh, we’d like to get to know you on more friendly terms.”

“You mean friendly as in not trying to shoot me, snap my neck, or flatten me like a pancake?” 

Smokes cringed. “Precisely.”

Jim hummed. “And why should I?”

“I— I’m sorry?” 

“I said, why should I?” Jim repeated.

Smokes twisted his hands together and shifted on his feet. “Well… that's a— Uh, what— what do you want?”

Jim let the silence linger. He wanted many things, mostly to fulfill his dream of being both a pacifist and a serial killer simultaneously (how exciting it is to be the first at something!), but if Smokes could give him anything more than the superficial he’d saw off own foot and serve it for breakfast. That just leaves the basics then.

“You can’t lock me up. You can’t threaten me with force. You can’t kill me. Those aren’t conditions I’m just telling you what you should already know.” Smokes nodded slowly. “If you try to lock me up like the other SCPs, you will not like what happens.”

Smokes blanched at the reminder and jerked his head in agreement. “You’re no longer classified as a D-class so—”

“What happened to Corner?” Thomas spoke for the first time and everyone except for Jim jumped, most likely having forgotten he was there despite his size. Jim did tend to draw all the attention, but he couldn’t help it. Beauty was sometimes a curse.

Smokes recovered first and wiped his hands on his pants, clearly hesitating. “Very recently he was promoted from Junior Researcher to Researcher and went on his little uh, power trip if you will.” Smokes grimaced at the look on Thomas’ face. “We _never_ authorized his actions, _never_ would have made you a D-class and sent you to die as he did Mr. Knox. He’s been demoted and if I may speak frankly once more, hated by many because— well he is blamed for a lot of what uh... happened.” The guards behind Smokes nodded grimly even as they kept their eyes on Jim.

“The cunt’s still alive, eh?” Jim stared off into space. “I wonder how much longer he’ll last.” He smiled to himself.

Everyone but Thomas backed up a step.

“Okay, that’s— okay.” Smokes cleared his throat and when he spoke again his voice was a few pitches higher. “Uh, anyway, Mr. Knox you have your job back, if you want it, and we’ve given you a promotion to Level 4 clearance with an additional increase in pay as our sincerest apology.”

“I want triple my previous pay,” Thomas bargained. “I’ll take the Level 4 clearance access, and I want the same benefits as our ranking council members.” Thomas’ eyes glittered. “Also, my only duty will be with Grognak. No one and nothing else. Take it or I’m gone.”

“Grognak— Oh yes, Grognak.” Smokes’ eyes flicked back to Jim for a second. “I know what happened was terrible but I— I’m not sure… they won’t like having such a high-ranking officer not under their complete authority.”

“Well, if they’re upset about it then they can talk all about their grievances with Grognak.” Thomas patted his hand on Jim’s shoulder. Jim beamed maniacally.

Smokes flinched and grimaced, conceding to his point. “I understand. Anything else?” he looked between them hesitantly, like he was very much hoping that there wouldn’t be anything else. 

Jim turned to whisper in Thomas’ ear. Thomas rolled his eyes. Jim nodded his head at their watching audience and raised a defiant brow. Thomas rolled his eyes again and spoke to Smokes, “We want communism reinstated in America.”

Jim nodded gravely. “Da.” 

Thomas grimaced. “Or at least the National Anthem of the Soviet Union to be played every morning throughout the facility.”

Jim leaned over to whisper in Thomas’ ear again, “Ask for a parachute too.”

Thomas stared at him. “A parachute?”

“Yes, just a single parachute.”

Turning back, Thomas raised his voice again, “And we want a parachute. Just— just one parachute.”

Smokes looked close to tears. “I’m— I’m not sure how to bring communism to America. But I’m sure we can play the anthem… and— and get you a parachute.” When Jim only looked at him, thoroughly unimpressed he continued, “Please, I— we’ll try our best.” 

Jim studied their intruders and weighed his options. He could easily kill every single person here and in the facility if he wanted. Then he and Thomas could catch a flight and probably be chased by other branches of the Foundation depending on what country they were in. Of course, they would all die too so it wouldn’t really be a chase per se, more like a fun game of _how many people can we kill this time._ That being said, he kills people all the time so it's not his priority. He was more curious to find out about the other SCPs here and if any were like him. Plus, he still had no idea how he got here in the first place. In the end, it was hardly even a choice.

Decision made, Jim leaned forward. “Lead the way.”

* * *

After whispering his goodbyes to Bertha, Jim and Thomas followed their party crashers out of the forest. Jim took great joy in walking silently through the brush to make the officers as paranoid as possible. As it was, he could see the sweat dripping down their necks and the rigidness in their shoulders. They didn’t turn around though, probably scared of startling him. He grinned. _It feels good to be feared again._

Reaching the edge of the forest, they were met with two other guards, also weaponless, also terrified. They made eye contact with him and then quickly spun around, leading them back to the facility in a hurried pace. 

The rest of the walk outside was uneventful. So uneventful that it almost appeared as if the entire facility was in hiding or at least avoiding something. Jim noticed the blood, brain matter, and crushed jeeps had been cleaned up and was only a little disappointed. He couldn’t see the building from this far away, but he also no longer saw smoke rising in the air from the bomb. Thomas had gone back to his “I have no emotions” persona, so he didn’t speak to Jim at all.

Leaving the sun’s warm embrace behind, they entered the elevator.

Jim jumped in front of the guards, making them throw themselves backwards, until they were pressed up against the elevator walls. Their breathing grew laboured and he swore he heard one of them whimper. 

“Relax, you guys can press the button next time, but I have to make good on my promise to Thomas.” Jim turned to Smokes. “What level are we going to?” he asked.

Smokes’ knuckles were white from his grip on the railing. “One floor,” he squeaked out, voice cracking. “One floor down.”

Jim nodded. “Well Thomas, never let it be said I don’t keep my word. Your button awaits, my liege.” Jim bowed and stepped out of the way. 

Thomas rolled his eyes. When he caught sight of Jim’s serious expression he stared at him incredulously, locking him into a staring contest. The elevator hung unmoving. Someone shuffled behind Jim. Thomas kept staring. No one said a word.

Just then the elevator doors peeled back open and a woman wearing a lab coat and looking down at a clipboard took a step inside. Smokes made a noise in the back of his throat and she glanced up distractedly. When her eyes caught sight of Jim she froze. 

Thomas finally broke their staring contest with a huff of annoyance and turned to the woman. “Get out.” he barked.

She didn’t need any more encouragement before hightailing it out of there, heels clacking on the floor and lab coat billowing behind her. When the doors finally closed again, Thomas stepped forward and practically punched the elevator button, stepping back to cross his beefy arms and scowl. The guards trembled.

_Is he that upset that he didn’t get to press the button last time too? Talk about selfish..._

The lift spluttered into movement and even though it only took a few seconds, the tense silence inside the elevator was almost stifling. When the doors opened, Jim stepped out first. 

_Ah, here’s where everyone is._

The hall was its normal bustling self. Well almost normal. As soon as Jim stepped into the hall, he watched in calm amusement as people noticed him and froze like mannequins. They pressed themselves against the wall in a desperate bid to get as far away from him as possible when he walked by. Thomas leaned closer to him to mutter, “They may call you Grognak to your face, but in their heads you’ll always be just another SCP to fear.”

Thomas said it as if that was a bad thing. “Behold my power,” he muttered back and then faked a lunge to the next person coming up who had their hands glued to the wall as if they were hoping they could sink into it. They reared back so strongly their head banged into the wall and they slumped to the floor, unconscious. Jim wondered how these people ever got this far in life fearing everything different than them. 

Smokes and his army of guards jumped and stared in shock. Thomas stepped forward, unphased, to open the door Smokes had just unlocked. “That’s not power. I could do the same thing with one punch,” Thomas argued.

“Whatever,” Jim crossed his arms and stepped over the unconscious body to walk inside the room with Thomas. “You still have to punch them, I didn’t even touch the guy! I’m not sorry Thomas, but when it comes to power I win. Even though you look like a protein-snorting bodybuilder.”

Back in Bertha Smokes had explained that they’d be going to an “interview room” which Jim was ninety-nine percent sure was a euphemism for “interrogation room,” but it seemed nice enough. In fact, it looked more like a luxury office space than the two chairs, one table he was expecting. 

A large circular desk and eight chairs made of rich mahogany sat at the far side of the room. The wall to his right was taken up completely by a bookshelf with a decent number of books and large armchairs sat on a carpeted floor surrounding a gas fireplace to his left. A couple world maps and Victorian style paintings dotted the rest of walls, creating an inviting atmosphere. 

Jim wasn’t stupid, he’d seen the state of 049’s cell. Hell, he’d experienced it when he first woke up as a D-class. These people had deliberately chosen a luxurious room to entice him into cooperation. Interrogation rule number 39: If you can’t use threats, torture, or take a loved one hostage, make them feel like you’re on their side. 

Thomas seemed equally as unimpressed, barely looking around before heading towards the table at the back with Smokes wringing his hands and following him. His guards were nowhere in sight. Perhaps they were left behind to deal with the guy Jim had knocked out? He didn’t really care. He especially didn’t care when he felt a nudge from his lord and saviour Turg in his head. Jim followed the urge and went over to the bookshelf instead of the table to peruse the titles. 

He waited until Smokes made eye contact with him to take a book off the shelf and drop it on the floor.

Smokes started, flinching away from the noise and looking completely bewildered at his absolute power move. The doctor was saved from having to come up with a comeback to counter Jim’s when the door opened again and three more researchers came in the room. They also wore simple outfits so it was easy to see their lack of weapons.

They hadn’t noticed Jim yet, just looking at Thomas and Smokes. “Where is—”

BAM!

All three of them jumped, spinning to look at where Jim had just dropped another book on the floor. While he had their attention, he put one foot on the book and used the other to push himself forward, until he had his own terribly ineffective skateboard.

No one said anything for the four minutes it took Jim to get from his original spot to the table at the back. The horrible scraping noise of a hardcover book on the hardwood flooring accompanying him the entire way. 

When he arrived at his destination, he sat down in the chair with his back facing the wall and glanced around. Thomas quietly took the seat beside him while the newcomers watched. “Why are you all gathered around me like I’m some sort of freak show when I’m clearly a normal human being.” Jim held a hand over his heart, putting on an affronted expression.

“Fascinating.” One of the researchers, an East Asian man covered in tattoos was looking at him like he was the seventh wonder of the world. Meanwhile, the other new arrivals made their way over to the table and sat across from him.

“Yes, well um. This is Dr. Lyle Maull, Dr. Clara Woodland, and Dr. Murray Greyson, and uh as we all know, this is Jim, um SCP-9410 I mean, and Thomas.” Smokes said, pointing at each of them respectively.

Lyle was the one with tattoos who had spoken earlier. Now that he was closer it was easier to see that the tattoos covering his body also had a place on his face. Seemingly random numbers that winded together on his cheekbones and temples. 

Murray was bald and older than the rest, looking to be in his early sixties. His dark blue eyes were cold and he looked at Jim like he was a bug to dissect. Jim got the feeling this guy probably had a tough childhood and likes to think of himself as special and different from everyone else as a way to cope with what he went through. Is that highly specific? Yes, but Jim had met the type. He couldn’t wait for this guy’s façade of cold cruelness to come melting off when faced with a real psychopath. 

While the introductions were happening, Clara and Lyle were the only ones who tried to smile.

“It's a pleasure to meet someone of such great infamy in such little time.” Clara looked at him with steely green eyes. Her long blonde hair was tied up in a ponytail and she eyed him with professional detachment. 

“I hope we’ll be seeing a lot of each other Jim, you can call me Lyle.” Tattoo guy smiled kindly.

“Its ‘name’ is SCP-9410 and it's just like every other monster in this facility.” Murray shot back snidely.

Jim tucked a nonexistent strand of hair behind his ear and smiled. “Don’t flirt with me Dr. Greyson, you’re making me blush.”

Murray physically reared back in disgust. _“Flirting—”_

“We’re here to come to an agreement,” Clara interrupted diplomatically, slowly swivelling her head back and forth between them all. She pulled out a few papers from the folder she carried and flipped through them. 

Murray crossed his arms and scowled. “We’re here to remind it of its place.”

Lyle laughed while reading over Clara’s shoulder. “His presence has been the catalyst to 347 deaths in the facility in two days. Actually, 348 if you count the body lying outside this room. What place are you referring to exactly?”

Oops looks like he did more than knock that guy unconscious. To be fair, it's not like he touched the guy! He just took a quick, somewhat threatening step in his direction. Totally not his fault.

“You just proved my point,” Murray sneered. “It's a loose cannon and it obviously has no feelings, why should we treat it like it does? Lock it up or neutralize it. Anything can be killed and that’s including this son of a bitch.”

Lyle eyed Murray like he was particularly stupid child. “Okay then, why don’t you try shooting him? Or are you too scared? Maybe you want more of our people to do it for you and die for no reason?”

“Gentleman, this is not the time nor place,” Clara interrupted again, her tone sharp. A frown was forming between her eyebrows and she pursed her lips in disapproval.

Smokes wrung his hands together, nervously adjusting his glasses. “Please don’t mention trying to neutralize it,” he practically begged. “We know verbal threats are enough to trigger a reaction.”

Jim looked at Smokes when the man called him an _it_ , frowning. Smokes blanched and slumped in his seat, hugging his limbs close as if making himself as small a target as possible. Jim nearly scoffed. Looks like he’s only Mr. Jim when Smokes’ doctor friends aren’t around. Lyle was the only one who continued to call him by his name and Jim briefly entertained the thought of this “interview” being a larger game of good cop bad cop, but immediately dismissed it. His gut told him these people really were this out of sync.

“As with any other discovery of a sentient SCP, we are here to discuss the role this Foundation will play in its future.” Clara was saying. She put the papers down and gave them her full attention.

Looking anywhere but at Jim, Smokes hesitantly spoke up, “Um, well we already spoke about this and I promised a few things…” he hesitated.

“Spit it out,” Murray snapped.

“It… well it wants the Soviet National Anthem to play every morning over the PA system and a— a parachute.” 

Everyone but Thomas looked at Jim.

Jim nodded sternly. “That’s right, it’s non-negotiable.” He turned to Smokes. “You missed the other part.”

“Yes, of course.” Smokes stammered, “It also asked for communism to be reinstated in America,” he glanced around hesitantly, “but I said we didn’t know how to do that...”

Lyle put his chin in his hands, grinning at Jim.

Clara clicked her pen and started writing. “Yes well, I’m sure the first two are—”

“Also, we give him free rein…” Smokes continued, biting his lip and looking like he wanted to sink into the floor. 

“Excuse me?” Murray turned burning eyes onto a cringing Smokes.

“If no one tries to hurt it, it can’t do anything,” Smokes defended weakly. “And I figured it was very important to make it happy and uh... yeah,” he finished lamely.

“You did well, Alex.” Lyle gave him a small smile.

“He did _well?!”_ Murray bellowed. “Over my dead fucking body, he did well! That… _thing_ belongs in an isolation ward, or even better, in the ground dead as a doornail. History shows us that we can’t trust any of these fuckers.” Murray scoffed. “Free rein my ass.”

“If you think Alex could’ve done better why didn’t _you_ volunteer to make first contact with Jim?”

Murray started to rise to his feet, his face turning red in anger when Clara interrupted _again_ , “BOYS! Stop acting like a bunch of twelve-year old's comparing dick sizes,” she spat “I’m here to do _my job_ , what are _you_ here to do? Waste everyone’s time?” She scoffed. "If SCP-9410 was unimpressed before, I can’t imagine the disregard it will have for our authority now.”

Jim nodded and then shook his head condescendingly, imitating a Karen to perfection.

Lyle leaned back. Murray sneered at everyone but crossed his arms and sat back down as well.

She turned to Jim. “I apologize SCP-9410, but only the harmless, safe-class SCPs are not kept in strict containment and even then, they are monitored throughout the facility. If the Soviet Anthem playing for everyone and a parachute will earn your cooperation then we will be more than happy to provide them for you. That being said, you did kill 348 members of our staff in only two days—”

“You missed the part where you repeatedly tried to murder him.” Thomas cut in sharply, glared at her.

Clara paused and looked at Thomas for the first time. “As we had no idea it was an SCP, we were unaware of the effect attempting to neutralize it would cause.”

“So it’s okay to shoot at people, but not SCPs?” Thomas bared his teeth.

“No, that’s _not_ what I said, don’t twist my words Mr. Knox.” She raised an unimpressed brow. “We are simply saying that those deaths are not our fault. We were acting according to protocol, we cannot be blamed for what we did not know.”

“Just as Grognak cannot be blamed for how threats against him are responded to,” Thomas rebutted. “And ignorance is not an excuse, not knowing that it's illegal to steal doesn’t exempt you from punishment for stealing. Those deaths are _your_ fault, and more will continue to be if you try and lock him up.”

Jim’s gotta say, while he is more than capable of defending himself, it felt pretty good to have Thomas do it for him. Especially since last night Thomas was holding himself back from suffocating him. This counts as progress, right?

“Is that a threat Mr. Knox?” Clara tensed.

“I’m not making a threat.” Thomas sneered. “I’m telling you from experience. Shit doesn’t happen from just direct attempts to kill him. If you lock him up then I hope you’ve prepared your will. You people only ever listen when it's too late.”

“‘You people?’” Clara repeated, narrowing her eyes. “Is it fair to assume that your loyalties lie elsewhere now Mr. Knox?”

Thomas scoffed, his face twisting into something almost like fury. “You’re gonna try and label _me_ as a traitor? _You’re_ the ones who sent me to get my neck snapped by 173 after eight years— _eight years_ , of my unquestioning loyalty. I was so dedicated to this facility, and for what? _For what?!”_

Smokes butted in cautiously, “I told you that Corner’s been reprimanded—”

Thomas snapped his head towards him, half-standing and nearly lunging across the table. “AS IF THE SLAP ON THE WRIST YOU GAVE HIM CAN COMPARE TO THE SNAP OF MY NECK!” Thomas shouted, his body vibrating with tension.

They all nearly jumped out of their seats. Thomas breathed heavily, nearly panting in his rage. The doctors watched him like he was a rabid animal or something. As if their belief that Thomas was safe had been ruthlessly torn from them. It was probably a shocking reminder that Jim wasn't the only dangerous one in the room. In fact, Thomas could probably crush their heads like a watermelon with one hand. 

_He could crush my watermel_ —

Jim saw Clara’s hand inch towards her pocket and decided to daydream later and remind them of his presence now. “I _so_ hope you’re reaching for a weapon, _Clara._ ” He watched her face intently, a predator watching its prey.

She flinched again and slowly pulled her hand away to place it on the table, tapping her nails nervously. Clearing her throat, she started again, “Clearly this case is a bit more complicated than we initially assumed.”

Thomas flexed his hands and clenched his jaw, but sat down heavily, scraping his chair on the floor. Jim nudged him, asking a question with no words. _Want me to kill them?_

Thomas stared at him, face dark and closed off. Jim could see the temptation as if it were a physical thing whirling through Thomas’ head. He started planning the torture in his head and wondered how long he would make his victims scream this time. When he was getting to the good part in his daydream, Thomas’ nostrils flared and he let out an inaudible breath, shaking his head minutely. _Not for now._

Jim deflated, a little bit disappointed he wouldn’t get to test out his plans, but nodded with a small smirk. _If you change your mind, let me know._

Thomas gave him a sharp nod in return.

When they turned back they found the doctors looking between them. Smokes and Clara had paled further, but Murray kept his face stonily neutral. Lyle looked fascinated again.

For a while the only sound in the room was the steady hum of the air ventilation and Smokes’ foot restlessly tapping beneath the table.

Lyle broke it. “I admit I’m curious about something...” No one asked what he was curious about so he awkwardly continued after a brief pause, “How did you know there was a bunker there? We could find no records of it ever being made or used.” 

_Here comes the show_. “Ah, I miss Bertha already. Thomas and I enjoyed being inside her.” Jim leaned back as he reminisced. “After spending some quality time with 173 and then that whole bomb dropping thing, I found this cool place with some documents belonging to the... Administrator?” He tilted his head, pretending to have trouble remembering while lying through his teeth. “I dunno I forget the name, but there were lots of… _interesting_ secrets inside.”

They blanched as if they’d seen a ghost. Or in this case, heard about a ghost.

“Where? _Where_ is this place? What did you do with the documents? _Tell me!_ ” Murray slammed his hands into the table and leaned forward, the ceiling lights gleaming off his shiny head. Clara snapped her spine straight as if holding back from doing the same.

_They’re so stupid._

“Is something the matter Caillou?” Jim looked at Murray with mock concern.

“Listen here y—”

“Sorry, _Doctor_ Caillou,” Jim corrected himself. “Anyway, I got rid of them.”

It was like he actually sucked all the oxygen out of the room.

“You got rid of them?” Smokes repeated slowly, his foot paused its tapping under the table.

“Yeah, why? Were they important to you or something?” he glanced between them. The look on their faces made him cackle inside his head like the deranged little fecker he was.

“They’re unstable. Locking them both up is the only solution to this bloody shitshow.” Murray spoke in the deafening silence that followed his question. “Put them in chamber C-47 and we’ll deal with them later.” Murray stood up forcefully, sending his chair flying to its back before turning without a glance to walk out the door.

Clara shook her head but also started packing her things up, Smokes scrambling to mimic her. “I’m sorry we couldn’t come to a better agreement, but it’s not feasible to allow a dangerous SCP free roam throughout the facility. And let me remind you that as long as no one tries to hurt you, you have no power here SCP-9410. We’ll send you to one of our chambers and in a few weeks we’ll get started on interviewing you to flesh out your profile. Cooperate with us and you’ll enjoy your time with us a great deal more. Until then 9410, Mr. Knox.” She nodded and walked out. Smokes kept pace with her, not looking back.

Jim thought it funny that they outright acknowledged him as a dangerous being, but didn’t treat him like one. He guessed it's difficult for them to see the overwhelming beauty he possesses and reconcile it with the beast that lay within, but still, they forget so quickly.

Turning back, it seemed only one remained.

Lyle was looking at Jim like he was even more enthralled with him than he was thirty minutes ago. When Jim caught him staring he didn’t even blink, just kept staring unapologetically, a small unreadable smile on his face.

If Lyle expected Jim to be uncomfortable with the social faux pas, he didn’t know. As it were, Jim stared back emotionlessly, letting just a hint of the coldness that permeates his soul shine through.

To his credit, Lyle didn’t flinch away, in fact his smile grew larger and he sat up a bit. “I find your abilities fascinating Jim. I’d love to know if you acquired them or if you were born with them, if you’ve never felt physical pain before, all of it. That in itself I could research for years.” His eyes gleamed with excitement, “But to be quite honest it’s really just... _you_ that’s caught my attention. I imagine I could spend decades studying you and never understand the way your mind works, Jim. Your complete apathy and eccentricity makes a fascinating combination.” At this, Lyle stood up and gave a cheeky wink before making his way to the door.

_How is it his fault that he starts cults when people like that come up to him all the time?_

Thomas was watching where the door shut looking unnerved before grimacing to himself and breaking the silence they’d fallen into. “You were unusually restrained. What are you up to?” His eyes flicked over Jim’s face, suspiciously.

Jim smiled. _He knows me so well_. 

“What do you mean? I’m always restrained. Especially when there’s so many books around, I find them so calming. The perfect atmosphere to have a negotiation.” He gestured to the shelves and motioned for Thomas to walk with him. 

Thomas followed— albeit apprehensively, probably aware that Jim could not give less of a shit about books. “Yes, that’s you Grognak. Always talking about books... what the hell is that?” Thomas snapped his mouth shut as he approached the spot where Jim had pulled the book out only half an hour ago and froze. A pained expression blossomed on his face, “They’re so stupid.”

A nozzle was hidden between the shelves. 

Too many wrong moves and the other staff probably watching this entire interaction from hidden cameras in the room would have tried to gas them or something equally as debilitating. The doctors probably had remote control triggers as well. 

“It’s hard to have conversations with dead people.” Jim picked up the book on the floor. “They really never learn, do they?”

Before Thomas could respond, though he probably wouldn’t have anyway— still in awe as he was about how doctors could be so stupid, a team of MTFs appeared. Wearing masks unlike the regular guards, he assumed these guys were a tougher nut to crack. And by tougher he meant they would only flinch five centimeters away from Jim instead of the usual ten. 

“SCP-9410, we’re here to take you to your room.”

“You mean my cell?” Jim asked dryly.

Their response was to step back from the door and gesture forward, not commenting on his obvious sarcasm.

With blazing eyes Jim let the book hit the floor again. “I’m very excited to see what happens this time. Come along Thomas, there’s new memories to make.” 

After a trip down another level, entering Block C for “humanoid” SCPs, and briefly catching a glimpse of SCP-049’s cell again, they arrived at their new home. 

Jim had to laugh at what he saw. _This should be good._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, here are some quotes I used that were taken from Kevin's videos :)
> 
> "We want communism reinstated in America" and "Ask for a parachute" "A parachute?" "Yes, just a single parachute" is from GTA V RP but I am a communist
> 
> "Why are you all gathered around me like I'm some sort of freak show when I'm clearly a normal human being" is from GTA V RP but I am a monster  
> 
> 
> Also, I don't know if anyone caught it but I made a little reference to John Wick ;) I love those movies so I couldn't resist haha


	7. Chapter 7

INCIDENT REPORT: 9410-C-[ **█** **█** ]

In incident number nine on **████/████** , SCP-9410 and [REDACTED] were placed in a 5x5x5m steel enclosure with no windows, doors, exits or avenues to bring anything in or out of the chamber. 

Approximately 5 minutes after containment, Foundation member [REDACTED] accidentally tripped over electrical wires and started a fire. The fire began beside an unknown number of chemicals that turned it from a small flame to a raging inferno, reaching temperatures of [ **█** ] degrees. The fire burned straight through the steel containment chamber holding SCP-9410. Even as the entire steel box and the surrounding room exploded in flames and resulted in [ **█** ] dead, SCP-9410 and [REDACTED] were unharmed. It was heard by several faculty members humming to itself _“_ _I fell into a burning ring of fire”_ once escaping the affected area. 

In addition, the fire destroyed [ **█** **█** ] square feet of the facility and caused [ **█** ] other containment breaches, including SCP-096, SCP-049, and Dr. [REDACTED] was seen wheeling SCP-079 back to its containment chamber. SCP-682 also made an escape attempt during this time, but as it is too far to be affected directly by the fire, it is hypothesized that it was aware that the Foundation staff were distracted and attempted to use this to its benefit. 

How there were loose electrical wires in a rigorously inspected branch of the facility is unknown. The chemicals which caused such an explosive reaction are unknown. How the chemicals reached the exact spot they did in the facility is unknown. 

* * *

“Why is it always fucking fire.” Thomas coughed beside him where they stood against a wall, watching as the massive flames ate their way through everything they touched. It was just like yesterday after the bomb went off, people were scrambling over one another to either get away or try and stop the inferno. 

Jim was humming his favourite song and watching the chaos with glee. “What do you mean? We’ve never been caught by fire before.” Someone rushed by with a bucket of water and threw it futilely onto the flames. 

“I _did_ have a life before you, you know.” Thomas pointed out sardonically. 

Another person rushed in with water only to be run into by a screaming man with a leg on fire, spilling the entire bucket uselessly. “I don’t understand. There was no life before me.” 

Thomas rolled his eyes and then some people started screaming. Screaming louder and more panicked than they already were screaming. 

“People are screaming because every time you roll your eyes a child in Ireland goes blind,” Jim quoted factually. 

“If that was true you’d never stop rolling your eyes.” Thomas started to smile but abruptly let it fall, staring down the hall behind Jim in mounting terror. He started backing away, moving closer to the fire in favour of what was coming. 

_The only thing that makes Thomas truly scared is SCPs. Well, other than me of course, but I am the exception to most rules._

Jim turned around. 

SCP-049 was walking down the hall, the dead bodies behind him leading to his position like breadcrumbs. Two seconds after Jim noticed him, the red sirens used to signal a containment breach blared through the corridor. 

The dead bodies started to reanimate. 

Buckets were dropped, people turned on each other, trampling others to get away. The screaming grew into a near frenzy. A woman shoved a man behind her to 049 and used his death as a distraction to escape. 

Doing a double take and standing on his tippy-toes to see over the pandemonium, Jim noticed one guy leaning against the wall watching 049 approach with a bored expression on his face. Curious... very curious. But not important. What _is_ important is the approach of his bird dementor friend. Well, they hadn’t really talked enough to strictly be considered friends but this was his world so he makes the rules. 

Jim felt a grin spreading on his face and half jogged to 049, smiling wider when he was finally noticed. He didn’t get why everyone hated _this_ doctor so much, in Jim’s opinion he’s by far the best of the lot. 

“Hey! What’s up 049, I missed you!” Jim reached out and grabbed 049’s hand, pulling him in and slamming their shoulders together in a classic bro hug. 

“Greetings Grognak the Destroyer Attorney at Law. I have not thought about you since we last met.” 049’s voice was just as deep and just as posh as he remembered. “Was the move you just performed a new medical technique of some sort that I have not yet been introduced to? A way of checking for the Pestilence perhaps? 

“Nah,” he shook his head emphatically, “That’s just how communists greet each other. Anyway, what’ve you been up to?” 

049 glanced at the approaching line of reanimated corpses behind him, “I have been immersed in my work. The Pestilence is unforgiving in its malignancy and I _must_ perfect the cure.” 

“You know, I think I’m starting to see what you mean about that Pestilence. The people here,” Jim tsked to himself. “Well, lemme just say that they got hella problems.” And that’s an understatement to say the least. 

049 let out a wearied sigh. “It is unfortunately a deeply rooted problem at that, and a heavy burden to bear, but it must be done.” The doctor shifted slightly. “Forgive me, but may I ask you a question?” 

Jim nodded. “Shoot.” 

“There are rumours swirling through this facility, almost as swiftly as the Pestilence, that suggest the large explosion yesterday came from a new SCP. The only new SCP I am aware of is yourself. I apologize for assuming, but was that your doing?” 

Jim grinned and bounced on his toes. “Sure was!” he exclaimed. “They tried to get 173 to snap my neck but I was like Swiper no Swiping and they were like ‘oh shit’ and then they got bombed and I was like ‘my bad’ but to be honest they deserved it.” 

“I am so pleased to hear that Grognak the Destroyer Attorney at Law.” Jim thought 049’s voice could probably be recreated if you talked through a long tin can. “It brings me great satisfaction to have another doctor such as yourself working to save these poor souls from what they cannot see in themselves.” 

Jim nodded solemnly. “I do my best, but it really takes a lot out of you... Although I guess the bombs take more out of them if you really think about it.” 

The doctor put a hand on his shoulder. “I understand completely. I hope you are successful with your other bombing endeavours. Until next time Grognak the Destroyer Attorney at Law, I am afraid the Pestilence waits for no one, not even I.” 

“Until then, my friend.” 

They nodded at each other and Jim turned to watch 049 and his army of the dead walk down the mostly empty hallway until they faded from view. 

Jim cackled. “I seriously love that guy, he’s great.” 

Looking back to where Thomas was, he found his former guard pressed against the wall, flattened like a starfish and hyperventilating. 

Jim frowned. “Just because you don’t like him Thomas doesn’t mean you gotta be rude to him. You could’ve at least said hello.” To be fair, Jim has hidden plenty of times from people he didn’t feel like talking to, but he didn’t bring it up because Thomas would be annoyingly logical and call him a hypocrite or something. 

Thomas peeled himself off the wall, letting out a long breath and choking in air. “I’m not an SCP Grognak, if he noticed me he’d touch me and use his scalpel to have his sick little fun rearranging my guts.” 

“Why would he touch you?” Jim wrinkled his nose at Thomas’ crassness. “No offence, but just because you’re handsome doesn’t mean everyone’s gonna automatically want in your pants. Narcissism is _not_ sexy.” 

Thomas sighed but his lips twitching belied the gesture of annoyance. “Your unrelenting obliviousness is exhausting Grognak. Now can we please stop loitering next to the raging inferno of flames?” 

Jim shrugged. “Aight.” 

Jim hopped over one of the fallen buckets on their way out when he noticed the guy who didn’t run from 049 still standing there, the flames glinted in his eyes as he stared at the inferno. The man’s youth combined with his silver hair and ice blue eyes made him look like Jack Frost come to life. Frosty’s black jeans and black long sleeve henley top only made his paleness more prominent. 

_He looks_ so _weird._

Now that Jim was closer, he was vaguely able to remember seeing him in the cafeteria, standing against the wall just like he was now. Frosty had looked sad then, but at the moment the guy looked perplexed, frowning at the melting steel. 

Jim stopped. “Hey man, you socially awkward or something?” he asked. “Yes offence, but you look like an idiot always standing against walls trying to look misunderstood and mad at the world or whatever. You should get a new hobby.” 

After a beat of silence wherein Jim’s question was answered, Frosty’s eyes moved away from the flames to turn painfully slowly towards him à la Exorcist. When they made eye contact at last, the man looked like Jim had just slapped him in the face, but Jim could say that for once in his life he’d done no such thing. 

Frosty’s eyes widened dramatically and his eyebrows rose to nearly touch his hairline. His mouth meanwhile started opening and closing over and over again like a dying fish. He pushed off the wall he was leaning and made to take a step forward, but his foot just hovered in the air before he shakily put it back down. 

Frosty swallowed a few more times, his throat visibly bobbing up and down. “You can see me?” he whispered hoarsely, his voice surprisingly lower than you’d expect from what looked like a man barely out of his teens. 

“What does that even mean? Am I supposed to ‘a’ you?” Jim scoffed. “Of course I see you.” 

If Lyle looked at him with fascination, this kid looked at him like he was Jesus reborn. 

And then he started crying. 

“Oh for fecks sake.” Jim started backing away. “Why do people have emotions? They’re so useless.” 

“What are you on about now?” Thomas turned to the sobbing man. “He’s just standing there. And can we leave? It’s getting really hot in here.” Thomas pulled his shirt away from his skin to fan himself. The flames flared as if in response. 

“There’s nothing normal about that abomination Thomas.” Jim grimaced. “He’s a blight on this planet. A monstrosity among monstrosities.” 

Frosty started crying harder. 

Jim grabbed Thomas’ arm. “Hey, on three let’s push him into the fire. Ready? One, Two—” 

“Wait! Wait, please,” Frosty took a step forward and wiped at his eyes, his voice wavered and he stared imploringly at Jim. “Can you— can you really hear what I’m saying, like I’m saying it? Please, _please_ listen to me.” 

“No, I’m hearing what you’re saying like you’re not saying it,” Jim answered dryly. Putting his hands on his hips he motioned to the flames. “You see that fire?” 

The entire hall beyond the smoke was just blackened char and the roof looked like it was two seconds away from collapsing. If he was human and not inherently superior than everyone he probably would have cared more. As it were, Thomas did look increasingly worried every second that passed. 

But Frosty didn’t take his eyes off Jim, not even a glance or hint of a reaction to show that he saw the roaring flames approaching their position. He analyzed Jim’s features as if committing them to memory. 

Jim continued, “I’ll dunk your head in that and turn you into a slushy. And not a good flavour of slushy either, you’d be the kind that no one wanted. If they named a slushy after you it’d be called, ‘I Am Not A Good Flavour of Slushy I Am The Kind That No One Wants’, _that’s_ how bad you’d be.” 

“Grognak, as much as I hate to admit it I am almost used to your…personality, but the guy is literally making small talk.” Thomas turned back to the flames.“Maybe what we should be focusing on is the roof that’s about to collapse on us, or perhaps the toxicity of smoke inhalation, or even the, oh I don’t know, _actual fucking flames about to melt the skin off our bones_.” 

Jim narrowed his eyes. “Your _face_ is small talk.” 

Thomas sighed. 

“I’m an SCP,” Frosty blurted out. 

Jim turned to look at the icicle man in disbelief. “That is glaringly obvious. The idea of anything about you being normal is a monstrous concept.” He turned to Thomas. “Okay let’s go but just so you know we’re not leaving because you told me to leave, we’re going because I decided that I want to leave now. If you told me to leave but I wanted to stay, I would not listen to you and I would spit in your face and you’d be really upset about it.” With that he started walking down the hall away from the fire. 

Thomas hurried to catch up, not responding in favour of sticking as close as possible to him like a very large backpack. Jim didn’t check to see if Frosty was following them. 

As soon as they were out of the danger zone, the ceiling collapsed. 

Horrible screeching and groaning noises were their only warning before the earth rumbled. The floor above them collapsed with the ceiling as the flames rushed even higher and burned brighter. New kindling eagerly fell into its hungry maw and the smoke grew exponentially. The former crackle of flames turned into a roar of power and he heard Thomas swear viciously beside him. 

Jim looked up just in time to see a metal beam burnt in half to create a jagged edge, similar to a blade, swing in their direction. 

Jim didn’t even blink. It went right past them. 

It went right past them and pierced straight through Frosty’s heart with a sickening squelch. 

The beam was 3 inches thick and with the speed it had gained, Frosty was halfway up it: a killing blow. Frosty’s hands reached out uselessly to grab at the metal impaling him. 

Jim was about to start clapping at the beam for a job well done when he noticed something curious. 

There was no blood. 

Neither the steel-beam-turned-DIY-stake nor anywhere surrounding the wound was there even a speck of red. 

Even stranger perhaps was when Frosty reached forward and started pulling himself off the beam. As in, yanking himself through the massive hole in his heart without even a grimace of pain. Looking at his face you’d think he was playing a casual game of tug of war, never mind the fact that the “rope” was rupturing his heart with each tug. At this rate, all that’d be left of it was mush. 

But when Frosty reached the end, he popped off with a small suction noise and looked at Jim insecurely, as if waiting for his inevitable horror. 

There was no hole in Frosty’s body. A thick circle of fabric missing from his shirt was the only evidence that he’d been dealt what should have been certain death. 

It was the most normal thing Jim had seen from him since they’d met. 

Jim looked the man up and down. “Maybe you’re not so bad Frosty. You should get stabbed more often.” 

Frosty’s shoulders practically melted with relief and he beamed at Jim. He opened his mouth, probably to begin another litany of unintelligent gibber, when another beam fell and swung straight into the back of his head with a ringing clang. 

Frosty fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes, arms remaining by his side and falling straight onto his face. Jim could’ve reached forward to break his fall but then it wouldn’t have been as funny. 

Jim doubled over, wheezing. The body reminded him of when 173 tripped that one time. Classic 173. 

“Do you have a coin?” He asked Thomas who was warily watching the ceiling above them. 

Thomas looked at him. “Why would I have a coin Grognak?” Thomas gestured to his D-class jumpsuit. 

“Do you always answer a question with a question?” Jim scowled. He wasn’t worried about the flames hurting him, but Thomas was bound to be hurt if they didn’t leave soon and Jim wasn’t done with the man yet. This wasn’t the time to be difficult. “It’s really annoying.” 

“Only when they’re stupid questions.” Thomas went back to watching the ceiling. 

“There are no stupid questions, just stupid people.” Jim looked down at Frosty’s body which had yet to move. He was planning on flipping a coin to decide if he should bring Frosty with them, heads for leaving him and tails for keeping him because it didn’t look like he was getting up any time soon. Maybe he actually died this time? What if he’s like a shitty cat that only gets one life instead of nine? 

Jim would’ve gone with that and called it a day if not for the still missing blood. A beam that hard and moving that fast would’ve done some serious damage, even to someone like Thomas who had a rock for a brain. But if Frosty could survive literally destroying his heart, then why would a little concussion be the final nail in the coffin? 

It wouldn’t. 

Jim sighed, and allowed himself to stare at the ceiling with Thomas for a moment. 

“Grab a leg and start pulling Frosty’s body,” Jim instructed. “I won’t be helping because I don’t want to.” 

“Create your disturbing murder fantasies later Grognak.” Thomas’ voice sounded strained from his chin being tilted so high up. “He’s just resting while we wait for you to get us the hell out of here.” 

Jim scrunched his face up. “You can call it resting to protect your delicate sensibilities if you want but it doesn’t change the fact that his lights are out and no one’s home!” He blew out a harsh breath. “Remember when we had a moment about how those doctors never listen, how they never learn? You called them stupid for not taking me seriously and right now I’m telling you, Frosty is one hundred percent unconscious. Why would I lie?” 

Thomas gave him a look. 

“Okay you got me there.” Jim shrugged. “Fine. I can’t believe I’m doing manual labour.” Grimacing he reached down and grabbed ahold of Frosty’s ankle to start dragging him like a mop. 

“HOLY FUCK.” Thomas stared at Frosty and backed up in shock. Jim reached out to pull Thomas back as a piece of the ceiling fell into the space he’d just backed into. 

“Commit suicide later Thomas, let’s go.” 

“That’s a dead body! He— his hair was brown before!” Thomas sputtered. “What the—” 

“He’s not dead, or at least I don’t think he is... he just likes to die sometimes, but he’ll be alright.” Jim didn’t wait for Thomas’ pea brain to catch up and started stomping down the hall as if he was some sort of pack mule.

Thomas kept glancing over as they finally got away from that hallway. The flames immediately swallowed the space behind them once they turned the corner and approached the elevator. If Thomas had any objections to taking the elevator during a serious chemical fire, he didn’t say anything. 

Jim yanked the body over the doorway and hit the button to the floor above them. 

The doors closed on Frosty’s head. 

“Oops, why have one concussion when you can have two I guess.” Jim chuckled and grabbed Frosty’s silver hair to lift up his head and then drop it back in the elevator with a THUNK. “Or three, even better!” Pressing the button again, he sniffed and waited. 

“So he was like this the whole time?” Thomas asked, still wide-eyed. 

Jim shrugged. “Pretty much.” 

“And all those things you were saying to him… they made sense as a response to what he was saying?” 

Jim dropped Frosty’s ankle to start sarcastically clapping. “Big brain Thomas, big brain.” 

Thomas turned away from him mid-sentence and faced the doors again. His face reverting to neutrality until none of the confusion that was previously written there was visible. It looked for all intents and purposes like Thomas had never asked a question at all. 

Shrugging again, Jim picked up the foot once more as the elevator dinged. He hoped dragging a body behind him would be enough for people to not talk to him once they stepped off. 

“WHAT THE—” Thomas shouted but cut himself off with a hand to his mouth. 

Jim started pulling the body out into the bustling hall. Fortunately, instead of getting suspicious of him, people actually moved out of the way when they saw him coming with the body. He made a mental note in his head: to obtain access to the express line, BYOC— bring your own corpse. _That’s_ dead _useful. Heh, get it?_

“Grognak, somethings wrong here.” Thomas removed his hand and spoke with uncharacteristic hesitance. 

A team of guards marched past them, each foot stepping on Frosty’s hand. 

Jim stopped walking and spun around to face Thomas, pointing at the body. “He said he’s an SCP so you’re just being as uselessly susceptible to them like you always are. Now, Simon Says shut the feck up and think about what you’ve done.” 

“But—” 

Jim groaned and started walking again. “You’re terrible at this game.” 

“What was he saying the whole time then? To me it sounded like he was— like he was just normal and being polite! But as soon as you touched him his whole body and demeanor _changed_ and it's like I could _see_ him.” 

Jim sighed. “Nothing important. He was just being annoying and then he got stabbed through the heart with a huge metal rod and that’s why he has that hole in his shirt.” 

“Fuck off Grognak, he did not—” Thomas paused to look at Frosty’s torso and then covered his face with his hands. “Of course he got stabbed through the heart, why I continue to think logically is beyond me.” 

Blessedly the rest of the walk was silent, likely due to Thomas’ existential crisis, and they reached the perfect destination to take a dead body: the cafeteria. 

Thomas shook himself, taking one last look at Frosty before moving ahead to nudge the door open by a hair's breadth, quietly peering inside. 

“Oh shit. What the hell? That’s the Intelligence Agency. What are they doing here?” 

Jim raised an eyebrow at Thomas’ back. “Should I care about what that means?” 

Thomas scoffed quietly. “They’re the badass of the badass Grognak, for real. Those guys go out to find SCPs when they _don’t even know what they do_.” Thomas shuddered and pulled away from the door, running a hand through his hair. “It’s strange though, what are they doing at base…? Doesn’t matter I guess, we gotta go somewhere else. We don’t want to mess with those guys, trust me. It’s not worth it.” 

Jim pushed Thomas aside and peeked inside. Men and women in black armour and helmets were standing in tight formational lines while commanders sans helmets paced in front of them, issuing orders. 

A cafeteria filled with advanced tactical teams probably arranged to control the massive containment breach that Jim just caused… _again_. Talk about awkward. 

“You’re probably right Thomas, but I don't want to drag Frosty around anymore.” That wasn’t even a joke, for looking so slim, Frosty was not an easy package to deliver. So, with his distaste for labour in mind, Jim stepped back, lifted up a leg, and _slammed_ it into the door. It went flying backwards with a _BANG!_

In situations like these, Jim found the best way to avoid being seen is to act like you have every right to be there. Blend in with the crowd and all that. 

“THE POLICE ARE NOT LOOKING FOR US.” Jim spoke loudly, but casually enough that if anyone was listening in, he wouldn’t seem suspicious. 

Every single head in the room whipped around to stare at him. 

_Feck, they’re good._

He just had to keep his cool. “Thomas, pull those chairs away,” he motioned to the table closest to them without looking. The officers had changed formation and faced them so the ones who were at the back were now at the front. The commanders were making their way through the lines, their faces hard. 

Looking beside him, he did a double take. Thomas wasn’t there. Spinning around Jim found him crouched down and leaning against the wall, both hands covering his face. 

Jim sighed. 

Dropping Frosty’s ankle, he grabbed a hold of a chair with both hands and made sure to drag it as hard as he could so that it made a horrible screeching noise, all while staring at Thomas. Then he did the same with the next chair. And the next. He made sure each 10 chairs around the table were scraped as slowly as possible. 

“You could’ve prevented that Thomas if you just listened to me, it’s all your fault.” Jim gave him the finger and then swung his arms to bunny hop onto the now free table with a grunt that echoed through the silent room. 

Once up, he laid down on his stomach and stretched his arm out, grasping at Frosty’s ankle. It took about a minute of failed attempts before he was finally able to grab a firm hold and lift the leg up. He squatted on the edge, “Okay, one two three—” He gave a fast and hard yank, falling onto his butt. 

Frosty’s torso hung off the edge still so he used his heels to scoot back and then slowly started shimmying backwards. Frosty might’ve hit his head a couple more times on the edge of the table legs but that’s okay, why have three concussions when you can have seven? 

After more effort than he had exerted for a human in decades, he finally sat back on the table, Frosty’s not-corpse chilling right next to him. 

Jim smiled with satisfaction and looked up to call Thomas over. 

Thomas wasn’t against the wall anymore. Well, he wasn’t against _that_ wall, that is. Thomas was in fact against the wall, but it was on the other side of the room. 

In handcuffs. 

And every officer in the room was pointing their weapon at Jim. 

_I’ve been made._

“Who are you.” A voice barked at him. Searching the room, his eyes landed on one of the commanders with gray hair shaved to a buzzcut. Her dark skin was old and weathered, but set with steely determination. She didn’t look at what she probably thought was a dead body, just kept trained eyes focused on Jim’s crouched form. She’d probably seen some shit. And some fucked up shit at that, but that wasn’t enough to convince Jim just yet. So far, the guards and officers that worked for The Foundation had been nothing but a disappointment. 

He tilted his head. If they were here for the containment breach then they should know who caused it, but it seemed they didn’t. From what Thomas said these guys aren’t in the facility normally so he guessed it made sense that they wouldn’t have heard about his exploits just yet. Also, to be fair, The Foundation only found out he was an SCP yesterday so he might as well cut them some slack. 

“My name is Jim.” He sat down from his crouching position and started swinging his legs over the edge of the table. Splaying his hands out behind him, he accidentally smacked Frosty in the face. “I’m an SCP.” 

Immediately all the guns in the room clicked, their safety’s turning off. 

Jim grinned. 

“NO! _Don’t_ shoot him!” Thomas shouted. “Please listen to me. I know I’m dressed as a D-class but I work here. My keycards in my pocket, just check.” Thomas was frantic. He used his massive size to pull his arms free from the officers that held them and raised his cuffed hands up as if trying to calm a wild animal. 

A different commander with a similar buzzcut, piercing blue eyes, and only slightly younger than the first, nodded his head to the guards holding Thomas. They searched Thomas’ body and pulled out the card, immediately handing it to their superior. 

The commander scanned it for a few moments then pulled out a cellphone. Still staring at the card he made a call, speaking too softly for Jim to hear. Bored, Jim looked back at Thomas and grinned further. Despite his pleas, Thomas looked like a badass soldier again. His face was stoic and strong, none of the anxiety he must be feeling peeking through. 

A minute later and the commander hung up. Looking up, the man nodded his head towards the men holding Thomas. 

If Thomas wasn’t so handsome and Jim hadn’t spent so long analyzing his features as a result, he would have missed the minute relaxing of Thomas’ shoulders as the operatives stepped forward and took off his handcuffs. He didn’t rub his wrists, just nodded to the men and made his way back to Jim, ignoring the guns still pointed at him. 

“You can’t shoot him.” Thomas leaned on the table. 

They watched Thomas suspiciously. “Explain.” 

“Grognak’s file hasn’t been registered yet because he’s a new SCP; he’s only been here for 3 days so they know jack shit about him.” Thomas stood up straighter. “But I’ve been with him almost the entire time and I’ve seen firsthand what he can do. If you try to hurt or contain him it turns into a complete shitshow. If you all shot at him, you’d shoot yourself by accident, or maybe the floor would collapse beneath you, or maybe Jesus himself would smite you down where you stand and I’m _not_ exaggerating. Anything other than Grognak getting hurt.” 

The commanders paused, taking that in. They exchanged a look. 

“Do you have anything to verify your claims?” The female commander asked it harshly, but she signaled for her men to lower their guns. They did so cautiously. 

“You’ve heard about the bombing, yes? The containment breach we had yesterday? The deadliest containment breach that has ever been recorded in this facility? The fire burning the facility below us right now and the _other_ containment breach happening right now?” Thomas paused. “They’re all because of him.” He jerked a thumb at Jim. 

“They’ve set SCP-173 on him, shot at him, tried to run him over, and locked him up in chamber C-47. _C-47!”_ Thomas slammed a fist on the table. “They locked us in C-47 and he escaped without raising a finger. He met SCP-049 and they _hugged_ for fucks sake. He’s yet to get a single scratch and this facility has lost over 350 personnel in 3 days. With this fire and containment breach that could easily be doubled now.” 

Jim felt all their eyes turn to him. For the first time since he’d gotten here, he felt true consideration. Not the immediate dismissal as a potential danger because he looked too sexy to be an anomalous being. These people were taking him seriously and it made him like them more than any of the other staff he’d met. Other than Thomas and Leo of course. _I wonder what Leo is up to anyway... if he’s still alive._

“Thank you for the kind words Thomas. My name is Jim or Grognak the Destroyer Attorney at Law Esquire M.D., and the only thing I’m guilty of is being innocent.” Jim gave as large of a bow as he could while still sitting. 

Distrust radiated off of them. 

“You may be right,” the female commander spoke to Thomas. “But we can’t take the word of one man. Perhaps this SCP has memetic properties and you aren’t acting as you would normally. Perhaps you’re the SCP and you’ve somehow tricked us. How can we tell?” She eyed them calculatingly. “That being said, we won’t shoot in case it is true. Lord knows we have bigger problems right now.” 

The younger commander nodded sharply. “That’s correct, we have a mission to complete so this is not our priority right now.” He shifted to face his men, but made sure not to show Jim his back. “Team Alpha 1-1, 1-2, and 1-3 move out. Lieutenant Sommer.” He nodded to the older woman who nodded back. 

Immediately half of the room saluted him and raised their weapons, stalking out of the cafeteria. Jim wondered how many would make it back. For once, he didn’t hope for their deaths though, these guys seemed smart and paid attention. A much bigger upgrade from the guards working on site who hear don’t shoot and then start shooting. 

Just then, Frosty gasped rather dramatically and shot straight up, fumbling around to find his bearings and scanning the room. His movements were jerky and panicked but when he caught sight of Jim he let out a sigh of relief and moved closer, the heat radiating off his body contrasting with his name. Frosty either somehow missed them, or wasn’t bothered by the squadron of elite tactical officers. Although the officers didn’t seem to care much about him either, not even looking in his direction even after his resurrection. 

Frosty stared up at him. “It wasn’t a dream,” he whispered, a hint of something fragile in his eyes. 

“Do you normally get impaled through the heart?” Jim asked. “Not that I’m judging, we all have our vices. Except for Thomas, he doesn’t really have a personality. Does that mean not having a personality is his personality?” Thomas turned to him with a constipated look on his face. 

“Is he awake? I remember you dragging someone across the hallway. I— I know he had a different face, but if I could just…” Thomas broke off, frustrated. “It’s like I can’t _focus_.” 

In lieu of answering, Jim held his hand up to his face and looked over at Frosty contemplatively. Tilting his head, he reached out and placed it on Frosty’s shoulder. 

Instantly, all the eyes in the room snapped to Frosty. Guns were raised once again and Thomas backed up a step, seeing Frosty’s pale, icy blue eyes for the first time. 

“This is Frosty, he’s another SCP.” Jim gestured to the man with his free hand. “Shoot Frosty and it’ll probably only make him stronger. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he ate the bullet.” 

Frosty’s smile morphed into one of exaggerated toughness and he turned to face the officers. “Bullet equal protein. Protein make Frosty strong.” He thumped his chest. 

“Oh God, there’s two Grognaks.” Thomas looked horrified. 

“Hold your fire.” Sommer barked at her team. She turned an assessing gaze towards the misfit trio. 

“You.” She pointed at Jim. “You hurt anyone that tries to hurt you, correct?” 

“Affirmative.” Jim saluted. 

She turned to Frosty. “And from what I’m hearing you’re invulnerable and you got some invisibility thing goin’ on, correct?” 

Frosty wiggled excitedly in his seat at being spoken to and glanced over at Jim before saluting her as well. “Affirmative.” 

Sommer’s eyes obtained a rather nefarious gleam and she paced towards them. Four of her squadron broke off to accompany her but she waved a hand and they immediately desisted, falling back into rank. 

She stopped when she was a few feet away from their table. This close Jim could see the scars that covered her heavily lined face. One in particular cut from her left eyebrow, down her cheek and ended at her chin. Either someone with a massive sword or something with a massive claw decided they didn’t want her to have a face anymore. 

“I don’t know exactly what this facility has done to you and what you’ve done back and frankly I don’t give a shit,” she started. 

“...Okay.” Jim didn’t remember asking. 

“However, SCPs like you two could be useful and God knows we need useful around here. You would be a one-man army and you would be dead handy to have for reconnaissance.” She motioned to Jim and Frosty respectively. “If you aren’t completely evil sons of bitches I might consider letting you work with us.” 

A man behind her stepped forward. “Ma’am, with all due respect you can’t seriously be suggesting we work _with_ them?” He looked flabbergasted. “That’s absurd.” 

“What’s absurd is your audacity, soldier.” she snapped, not even turning to face the man. “Remember your place.” 

Another soldier spoke up. “I think Lieutenant Sommer may be on to something. Why not make use of what we have?” Low whispers erupted as the group turned to discuss their options with one another. 

Sommer raised a hand and any chatter immediately paused. “Don’t get too excited, it would take months of convincing and then testing and paperwork and even more testing.” 

Frosty’s eyes had lit up during the debate. He leaned forward in his seat, nearly bouncing off the edge and Jim tightened his hold on the man instinctively. 

While the offer sounded interesting, there was just one problem. Jim blinked demurely. “Define completely evil,” he asked innocently. They had to be missing a few brain cells if they expected him to become some flower picking hippy just to suit their needs. 

Sommer gave him a knowing look. “There is no black and white here. Everyone in this facility is some type of evil and that’s the damn truth. I honestly don’t give a fuck who you’ve murdered or how many or even how much you enjoyed it. In case you haven’t noticed, the Foundation isn’t run by men trying to kiss Jesus’ asshole—” 

“And women.” Jim interjected. 

“—As long as you’re evil to our enemies and not us then it doesn't matter what kind of fucked up shit you got in your head.” 

What a wonderful philosophy to have in life. The only thing Jim hated more than people who pretended to be all good, were people who believed themselves to be all good. 

Just then, static came from her radio and she backed away from them a step to pull it out and listen. “Team Alpha 1-1 requesting backup on floor 3, Block A. SCP-096 is loose and rampaging, over.” The voice was unsteady and came out in uncontrolled bursts, borderline gasping, as if they were sprinting. 

Sommer raised it to her mouth. “10-4, on route.” Without another word, she turned her back to them in a surprising display of either trust or stupidity and prowled back to her team. “Beta Team 1-2 and 1-3 you heard him, get in there. Don’t try to be a hero, have the bag ready and keep your eyes down for fucks sake.” 

“Yes ma’am!” They chorused together, saluting her and just like the Alpha team, they marched out the cafeteria door without hesitation. 

“The rest of you follow me, I just know that lizard is gonna try some stupid shit again.” Sommer rubbed a hand across her face and motioned the remaining group to follow her. They did so without further comment, marching past her when she paused at the door. Looking back, she stared right at Jim and raised both her eyebrows. “I can’t stop you and if I could I don’t know if I would,” she snorted, “but try not to burn the _entire_ place down. I’m giving you some of my trust right now, don’t ruin it or you’ll never get it back, capiche?” 

Jim nodded. “Don’t worry, I’ll only burn the important places, not the entire facility.” 

Sommer shared a look with Thomas and actually smiled at whatever expression she found on his face. “All the important places, then. Alright, here we go boys.” 

And then there were three. 

Jim watched the door swing shut. “Huh.” He was impressed. He hoped her kidneys didn’t get torn out. Sommer actually seemed pretty chill. Or as cool as you can get for being a copper. 

“Sommer’s like who you want to be Thomas but you’re too scared of SCPs to ever get that far.” Jim dropped the unfortunate truth bomb. 

Thomas rolled his eyes. “If you could die you would be scared too Grognak.” 

“I’m scared all the time… of your face.” Jim smirked. 

Thomas pointed an accusing finger at him. “You literally called me First Guard because I came first in ‘handsomeness!’” 

“I only called you that because there were no other guards around after you beat Flint to death.” 

Thomas was shaking his head already. “You called me that before I killed him,” he argued. 

Jim snapped his finger and bared his teeth in victory. “Aha! So you admit it. You killed Flint. Why’d you kill him? You are a very murderous human but you’re not the type to do it just for fun. Were you jealous because I was talking to him and not you? That’s happened before you know.” 

As if he flipped a light switch off, Thomas’ face abruptly went slack and shut down, losing all its good humour and setting itself in stone. Jim reared back and almost tripped over his own feet, giving himself a mild case of whiplash. He’d never seen Thomas look like this before. He didn’t even look this bad when they were with SCP-173. Jim shared a look with Frosty who, rather uselessly, only looked back at him dreamily. Thomas’ mood changes were seriously making him question reality, how was he expected to know what this one meant?! 

_Uhh maybe he just remembered he left the stove on? No, that can’t be it he was locked up as a D-class, no access to kitchen appliances. Um is he… nope he’s still imitating Medusa's victims, that’s not good. Okay, okay, find a pattern, find a pattern… What happened the other times Thomas got like this? He’s usually a firecracker so maybe I don’t have to figure it out? If I play stupid will he just, I don’t know, get on with it? Is that rude a rude thing to say? I don’t care._

Jim steeled himself for the onslaught. “Come on you know I love a good bit of murder gossip. Did he steal your lunch from the community fridge? Or did he not agree with your communist lifestyle? Which one is it?” 

“No Grognak.” Thomas paced a few feet away, turning his back to Jim and a curiously listening Frosty. 

“Did you know Flint was going to have a daughter? That he was getting engaged?” Thomas started quietly. “He would tell me about it all the time. Never shut up about it really. And he was always so— so accommodating. I’d tell him to leave me alone and he’d laugh and wave goodbye. He used to buy lunch for our entire sector for no reason other than being _nice_ _._ They told us that being nice would get you killed here, but he didn’t believe them, he didn't listen. And then he died. _I_ killed him.” His voice broke. 

Jim was about to make a snappy retort, eager to get this over with, but stopped at the threat of tears. He’d yet to see Thomas cry since they had met and he wasn’t sure if he liked seeing it. This was way above his pay grade. 

He cleared his throat and looked at Frosty, gesturing to Thomas with a flick of his head. 

Frosty looked taken aback and shook his head, nodding at Jim, then pointing at Thomas. 

Jim made a face. 

Frosty mimicked someone walking with his fingers and then wrapped his arms around himself in a mock hug, pointing sharply at Thomas once again. 

Jim punched a fist into his hand, the action making a small slapping noise, then slid a finger along his neck, pointing aggressively at Frosty. 

Frosty held his hands to his throat and mimicked choking to death, falling flat on the table, before rising up with a smile. 

Jim sighed and flipped him off before reluctantly turning back to Thomas. Clearing his throat again, he started awkwardly, “Oh no. Um, thoughts and prayers.” Jim looked at Frosty uncertainly. Frosty shrugged. “That’s, uh, so horrible. I’m sure you don’t want to talk about it.” 

Thomas didn’t answer or move. 

Frosty coughed. 

“Soooo…” Jim continued. “Why’d you kill him?” 

“I was so _angry_ at you Grognak.” Thomas spun back around suddenly, tear tracks raced down his sharp, ebony cheeks. He clenched his fists. “I just wanted— _needed_ you to shut up.” 

Jim completely understood Thomas’ plight. 

“It was the anniversary of my family’s death and you wouldn't _shut up_. I couldn’t take it anymore and I thought for once, fuck it. Being cold and ruthless is _so_ valued here, so for once in my goddamn life, I’ll be what they want me to be.” Thomas took a deep breath. “I planned on killing you.” 

And then Jim understood. “Oh.” 

Thomas laughed without humour and wiped at his cheeks angrily, “Yes, ‘oh’. Years of pent-up anger and the moment I let it go your _‘_ _powers_ ,’” He air quoted mockingly, “redirected it to what would be the worst possible outcome for me. Flint. Killing Flint. The only truly good person I’ve met in this fucking shithole.” 

Silence reigned in the large room. 

Jim didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t known Flint and he didn’t care that he died. He didn’t understand why people got so upset when people died. He tried imagining Thomas dying but he didn’t like the image so he stopped. Is that what people feel? It wasn’t fun but he wasn’t on the floor weeping. If Thomas died, what would he want other people to say about him, even if they didn’t know him well? 

He hadn’t a clue. 

Frosty whispered in his ear, “You should probably say something… make some shit up.” 

Jim hopped off the table, dragging Frosty with him and straightened, looking anywhere but at Thomas. “Flint was a good man, a man who stood for most things that most people liked and stood against things that people didn’t like…” he paused. “hear hear.” Jim whispered back to Frosty, “I dunno, that’s the most generic thing I can come up with.” 

Frosty started clapping, seemingly oblivious to the fact that no one else joined in. 

Thomas still didn’t say anything and Jim actually felt himself becoming even _more_ uncomfortable. He shuffled his feet and surveyed the room, suddenly very interested in the small cracks in the floor and the little paint inconsistencies he could find in the walls. 

He was about to go check out SCP-294 and try ordering lava, anything other than the stifling presence of _emotions_ , when Frosty spoke again. 

“How did your family die Thomas?” 

Thomas actually _snarled_ at him. 

“Frosty!” Jim broke in, faking a chuckle and glancing between them nervously. “That’s incredibly insensitive and that’s coming from me. You can’t ask people you’ve just met about their traumatic history unless we hate them, yes? If we hate them then go ahead and ask right away, use their trauma against them. Write that down, that’s some good shit.” 

Frosty startled and frantically started patting himself down, eventually pulling out a pen from his pocket. He started scribbling furiously on his hand after murmuring an apology to Thomas. 

Jim squeezed the shoulder he still held. _"I’ll_ ask. Thomas, how did your whole family die?” 

Thomas crumpled to the floor and held his head in his hands. 

“Do you want me to kill them for you? I can add on the torture package too if you want. Free of charge of course. Friends and family don’t pay, that’d be an actual crime.” Jim’s chuckle was genuine this time. 

“You torture people?” Frosty asked, pausing his writing to glance at him with unreadable eyes. 

“You don’t?” 

“No.” He shook his head slowly. “I tried it sometimes, anything to get people to notice me, but I never enjoyed it. I don't like hurting innocent people... I’ll hurt bad people if need be but I wouldn’t want to do it for work.” Jim stared at him uncomprehendingly and he rushed to finish speaking, “You can though,” Frosty assured him. 

Jim raised his arms above him and adopted a withered old man voice, “Oh great and mighty Turg, I thank you for this snowman’s blessing. I can now murder with a full heart.” He deadpanned and let his arms fall back down. 

Frosty grinned sheepishly. 

Jim smiled back and then remembered what he’d said. “Hey, what’s going on with all that anyway. Why do people not notice you? Is it because you’re ugly?” 

Frosty barked out a laugh. “Figures the first person that can see me would call me ugly,” he chuckled and didn’t seem too bothered by it. “They call me SCP-1504. Everything I do is interpreted as being the peak of normal by everyone around me. If I punch someone they won’t notice that I did it, they’ll think they got a random bloody nose. To everyone else I look like the most average person on the planet to the point that their eyes glide over me, sinking past me like quicksand. Nobody actually _hears_ what I say, just what _they_ think would be the most normal response. I can also interfere with electrical systems.” Frosty had been staring into the distance during his monologue but snapped back to attention suddenly, “Oh, and nothing hurts me and I can’t die.” 

To say Jim was bewildered would be an understatement. 

“I don’t understand. People say _you_ look average?” Frosty shrugged, just as lost. “That’s an insult to average people, but okay, moving on, were you around when this planet first formed too?” 

This wasn’t Jim’s first rodeo. He’d been in contact with many iterations of life on this planet and others who claimed to be immortal and carted big promises of staying by his side forever. No one ever kept their promise. 

He told himself he wasn’t disappointed when Frosty laughed and shook his head. “Wouldn’t that’ve been a nightmare. More than the nightmare my life has already been that is.” 

Jim snorted. “It was for a long time, don’t even get me started.” 

Thomas jerked his head up from his fetal ball of depression, eyes wide. The longer he stared at Jim and the longer Jim stared back without reacting the more his face contorted into a look of absolute horror. Frosty noticed the exchange and his smile slowly slid off his face as he glanced back and forth between the two. 

“What?” Jim looked between them. “Did you remember something? You didn’t tell me you have amnosia.” He paused. “I didn’t kill your family, did I? That wouldbe a plot twist.” 

Frosty mimicked Thomas and they both stared at him, neither of them moving as if frozen in ice. Jim felt the good-natured smile slide off his face. The room suddenly felt a few degrees colder. 

“Seriously, why are you looking at me like that?” He looked behind him just in case but found nothing but rows of empty tables and an overturned food cart. Glancing down at himself he didn’t find anything but his hot bod. 

Neither of them answered. 

_Oh maybe it's—_ “Is it the planet thing?” 

Thomas choked and Frosty’s eyes grew larger. 

_It’s the planet thing._

“Guys, it’s not a big deal. You freaked me out for a second.” He sighed. “I was in a different galaxy and all the stars and planets finally started to cave in on themselves, you know, as they do, and nothing can hurt me so I popped away and ended up watching this massive explosion and then _boom._ Tada! Planet Earth! Some of the organisms from my last planet must’ve come with me because whaddya know, couple million years go by and they’re evolved, and there’s finally life again! Other than that though it was mostly _really, really_ boring the first couple billion years, hence the nightmare thing.” He tilted his head, assessing Frosty. “I don’t remember meeting you though, are you an alien or something?” 

Frosty’s mouth opened and closed and he swallowed harshly. Jim watched his throat bob up and down. “I’m centuries old, not— I’m not billions. I can’t even imagine billio—” He choked again and glanced to where Jim’s hand met his shoulder. 

Thomas looked like he’d never seen him before. His eyes flicking across Jim’s form, taking him in like he was surreal and he couldn’t process it all. 

“You’ve lived through _everything_. Since the beginning of time. You _brought_ the organisms to this planet?!” Thomas clutched his head. “You’re basically the God of this planet, you— you started life as we know it here! Oh my god. We’re the result of the life from the planet you came from! Not our own natural evolution. Shit— I’m… I was religious, what does this even mean for that? Are you a God?” His volume got louder the longer he rambled until he was practically yelling in the empty cafeteria. 

“I don’t know.” 

Frosty looked back up, mouth gaping even further, “You... you don’t know if you’re a... god? _The_ God?” 

“I no longer remember my beginning. I assume I had a mother, though I’m sure she would not exist in a form humans could comprehend. It’s too bad cause none of the good Yo Momma jokes work with me, I miss out on a lot that way. But yeah, I’ve always just… just _been_. I don’t remember a time before I’ve been.” Jim said absentmindedly. 

That was actually true. Most people don’t remember their birth anyways, but he doesn’t remember a time when he became something. There wasn’t such a thing _as_ time before him. All he knew was that there wasn’t anything one second, not even darkness or a void just nothing, and then there was. It didn’t answer all his questions and it certainly didn’t answer anyone else's, but it’s all he’s got. 

“What are you then?” Thomas panic-shouted. _“Truly_. Are you even real?” Terror reeked from his body language. Whether Thomas was terrified of him or of what the existence of him meant, he couldn’t say. 

“Just as my mother is incomprehensible to you, if you saw me as I truly am, your minds would crumble in the face of what you are not able to process.” Jim scratched his cheek. “I think the best way to put it is… I’m not a being per say. I’m a concept come to life…” he paused, thinking it over in his head. “If that makes sense.” 

* * *

~Thomas~

No, it doesn’t make sense. 

Thomas wasn’t even sure how to _begin_ unpacking this. He thought once he let out his lingering resentment towards Grognak about Flint— and he _knew_ that was unfair and Grognak hadn’t forced him to have murderous intent in the first place, but he thought once he yelled it out, once he cried for the first time in ages, he could actually start to heal. 

He was wrong. 

He forgot that Grognak never lets you just rest. Never lets you sit there and process whatever horrible thing just happened. Because he’s not normal. And it’s never been more apparent than now. 

Grognak is billions of years old. 

Maybe as old as time itself and definitely not the basic white man he appears to be. 

God, he could feel a breakdown coming quick and he’d literally just had one. 

He remembered when he first realized that Grognak could not be normal. That he was something else. Really, it had seemed so stupidly obvious to him, sitting alone in that dark cell thinking to block out the ringing silence. SCP-049 had called Grognak an SCP right in front of him for fucks sake. 

That didn’t mean it hadn’t felt like a punch to the gut when he figured out Grognak was one of the things he both hated and feared. And that Grognak couldn’t be hurt, at least not in the way Thomas wanted him to hurt, only added to the frustration. 

He’d told himself that the next time he saw Grognak, he would ignore the SCP, not give it the attention it seemed to crave in an effort to replace the punch he desperately wanted to throw. Grognak’s responses to the world around him were too nonsensical to be his actual personality. _“It has to be a bid for more of the spotlight, or a manipulation tactic like 035,”_ Thomas had thought. 

How naive he was. 

It’d only struck him that this truly was Grognak as a person when he turned that corner outside SCP-173’s chamber and saw him standing there. Standing there in a uniform from someone he probably killed. He’d looked at Grognak, who was probably just told that he was going to be ruthlessly experimented on for no reason, not even worth enough to make it as a footnote in a research paper and Thomas saw nothing. No pain, no fear, no worry, not even exasperation. Complete indifference. And true indifference. As if you could offer to give him a hug or break his femur and he wouldn’t care enough to choose. 

In that moment, Thomas knew with an absolute, unquestionable certainty that he was so far out of his league it was beyond laughable. Beyond even finding a sliver, just a _sliver,_ of humour within it. The realization had sunk to his stomach like lead and for the first time in his life he’d thought, _“what’s the point?”_

Even when his family was charred into ashes right in front of him and the Intelligence Agency barrelled through, faces set and guns blazing, he’d felt the burning drive for revenge, for vengeance, for _life_. But faced with this severely balding, innocuous looking middle-aged man with empty eyes and a gaze that burned so deep and so cold he could feel it in his bones... Thomas felt the fire leaking from his soul. As if the cold emptiness emanating from this utterly terrifying Being melted him down to a pile of atoms and dust on the floor. 

He’d never met an SCP that made him want to quit his job as fast as Grognak did. He’d never met an SCP who’d made him want to quit at all! And what’s worse, no one else seemed to feel the catastrophic emptiness radiating off Grognak in waves of power. So much _power_ and all of it was hidden behind an empty face and a premature balding head. 

When Thomas saw Dr. Corner’s smug grin and all his old coworkers not even sparing him a glance and then Grognak’s empty expression transform into a genuine smile, his old plan went out the window. Grognak would tell you he hates you. Grognak would give you a five business day warning before he swallowed your soul whole. He’d tell you to your face that you’re annoying, or you’re ugly, or you’re stupid. Grognak would steal your knife right in front of you and throw it with perfect precision at a grenade and then walk through the chaos he reaped without an apology or a backwards glance. But the Foundation… the Foundation was a constant chess game of hidden agendas, exhausting bureaucracy, and ruthlessly stabbing one another in the back to reach the top of a never-ending ladder. 

Grognak wasn’t aware of how horrible his actions were, as much as he may say he was. He just doesn’t _understand_ what he causes because if what he did to other people happened to him, he wouldn’t care. 

The Foundation is fully aware of just how cruel they are and how much they love lording over everyone else. Thomas was sick of it. It’d taken eight years and being wrongfully imprisoned, but he was Sick. Of. It. 

Thomas knew that Grognak was not human, that he should stop applying human standards to him, but _how?_ He looked so human, he acted human— okay he never acted human, bad example, but he doesn’t turn into a demon, he doesn’t have scales. What even makes someone human? 

Shaking his head, he stopped himself. That train of thought would take him down a rabbit hole he did _not_ have time for. 

You know, he’d almost forgotten Grognak wasn’t normal in his fear of the oncoming bomb. It wasn’t until Grognak yelled down the hall after his frantically retreating form that his brain kick-started again. 

His suspicions were confirmed with alarming accuracy when a _bomb dropped_ _right_ _next to them_ , and they survived without a scratch. Other than the mental trauma of course. Trauma that came exploding out of him on their walk back to which Grognak once again didn’t understand that his feelings were completely valid for what they’d been through and that they wouldn’t just stop after his initial outburst. That Thomas didn't just _speak_ them, but _felt_ them. 

The more time they spent together, and especially during their stint in the fucking tree, or sorry, _Bertha_ , the clearer it became that Grognak might never understand. And that was, well it wasn’t _okay_ , but it wasn’t _that_ bad. He could deal with it. He would rather die than tell Grognak, but beneath the frustration he often felt, he also found himself secretly enjoying their bantering as if he was playing a game of wits with the devil. He’d yet to find out what would happen when he lost, but so far, it didn’t hurt that Grognak seemed to care more about Thomas’ life than most of the other fuckers in this facility ever did. 

And now here they were, with Grognak basically telling him that he’s an honest to fucking God, well... God, and he suddenly has to reevaluate every single interaction they’d _ever_ had. 

How is it possible to even be that old? His mind couldn’t even begin to visualize it. That many years is so— so _absurd_. The fact that Grognak is not _more_ indifferent or less human is astonishing. 

Grognak’s got to be the strongest person he’d ever met. 

Or the strongest... _thing_ he’d ever met. He was there for the Big Bang, when the planet should not have even been _habitable_. He’d had to sit on an empty floating piece of rock, for millions and billions of years as nothing happened. He couldn’t talk with anyone, make anything, do anything. For billions of years. Thomas can’t imagine the boredom, the _insanity_ that would foster. And yet Grognak’s only slightly deranged. 

Plus, he’d lived on a planet before this one. So he wasn’t even a couple billion years old, but probably much more. Since time itself started! How long was that? How did he still function? Did he not long for death as Thomas sometimes did at just 36 years old? Thirty-six is nothing to Grognak and he understood, _truly_ understood for the first time how Grognak can look at everyone around him and see nothing but petty little insects. 

Even Frosty, as Grognak named him, who proclaimed himself to be immortal would never have a lifespan even approaching Grognak’s. 

The sheer loneliness Grognak must have felt in his life is unfathomable. 

It was actually like looking at a whole new person. Before, he’d dismissed Grognak as someone who needed guidance. What else was he supposed to do around a psychopathic abomination who he assumed was going senile a bit earlier than one would expect for a man in his 50’s? He’d just thought Grognak was like every other SCP, but dropped a couple times on the head as a child. 

God, he’d gotten _so mad_ when he found out Grognak had been playing computer games for ten minutes instead of working on their plan when they were in Bertha. But now… what’s ten minutes to ten million? 

_Nothing._

The fact that Grognak could find even a passing enjoyment in playing silly games for children online would have brought him relief if he’d known then. He actually felt regret for taking him away from it now. Taking away a pleasure Grognak had so rarely gotten to experience for most of his life. Just imagining him sitting there on an empty rock staring at space, is so heartbreaking he can’t— 

Thomas took a deep breath. 

That’s not to mention that the entirety of Thomas’ existence, the way he looked, the way his parents looked, the way everything on the fucking planet looked, was all because one guy brought his planet’s native organisms to a new planet and then sat on a rock, or lava, or whatever the planet was back then, for billions of years. 

Billions. 

Grognak isn’t the alien, he’s the only truly normal one. The one that remembers what the original planet humankind came from looked like. He was, in some ways, the direct descendant to every form of life on this planet. From the grass, to the ants, to the fucking _dinosaurs_. 

Everything they were was a direct result of Grognak. 

And he doesn’t see how big of a deal it is, how absolutely mind melting this is, because he _lived_ it. 

But he’d also just said he’s not a person, so are they all recreations of the lifeforms from Grognak’s native planet or was humanity something new and Grognak just shifts his form to fit in? And what concept is he come to life? What does that mean? Like— like an idea gaining human form? 

The closest analogy his brain could provide was the ancient Greek Gods (and isn’t it weird that he didn’t find them ancient anymore? Not with Grognak as a reference), who were Gods and Goddesses of beauty, war, and wine among others. But Grognak wasn’t thegod of something... he just _was_ that thing, somehow come to life. 

It’s no wonder SCP-049 can’t kill him. How do you kill an idea? 

He believed Grognak when he said they wouldn’t be able to process what his true form looked like. He could hardly process just words, nevermind the visual to go with it. 

Thomas suddenly felt his life divide down two roads. 

Option one: He forgets about Grognak, takes an amnestic and leaves the Foundation. Forgetting everything he’d learned for the past eight years. Everything about the SCP who murdered his family, everything he now knows about the universe, everything normal people would balk at. 

Option two: He stays with Grognak for as long as he’s allowed and learns secrets his puny brain couldn't come up with on its own even if he spent decades trying. Stay with Grognak and live a life no other human can say they’ve ever lived but potentially be murdered before the age of forty. 

It really wasn’t a choice. It never seemed to be with Grognak, but that’s just part of his charm. And isn’t that just a horrifying thought— that Grognak is, in any way, _charming_. 

He shuddered. 

But for all that Grognak lacked, which was admittedly a lot, he made up for in complete fuckery. Thomas had felt more fear in the past two days than he’d felt in years, but he’d also felt more amusement than he’d ever felt in his life. Even if he didn’t necessarily show it. It’s far more fun watching people react to Grognak’s personal brand of bullshit rather than being the one forced to deal with it. 

Yes, that’s why he wanted to stay. 

If a part of him deep down shouted out that he wanted to stay so Grognak wouldn’t be alone for at least a couple decades like he’d been forced to be for billions, well… that was nobody’s business but his own. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes from Kevin's videos:
> 
> "THE POLICE ARE NOT LOOKING FOR US." Is from GTA V RP: The Bank Robbery Plan
> 
> "The only thing I'm guilty of is being innocent." Is from Star Wars RP but the empire has had enough shenanigans
> 
> “You should probably say something… make some shit up.” and “Flint was a good man, a man who stood for most things that most people liked and stood against things that people didn’t like…” he paused. “hear hear.” Jim whispered back to Frosty, “I dunno, that’s the most generic thing I can come up with.” Is from GTA V RP but I ruin a funeral
> 
> As always thanks for reading! :)


End file.
